Oh, the family gatherings this skirt could have endured with a smirk.

Clearly, this awesome wrap skirt could have helped you to avoid prying questions from nosey Aunties, parental nagging, and a full scale inquiry into your immoral life, but it has sold already. I regret not posting it earlier as this could is both a shield and a sword. And that it accomplishes these objectives with humor, even better.

Fortunately for me, everyone back home actually envies my profane and disgusting life. These upstanding citizens often threaten to abandon their clean living and run away to live with Auntie Samsara in the dirty dirty city. They imagine that I live off hors d'oeuvres and wine at art openings and galas (avoiding the expense and annoyance of preparing proper meals) and that I inevitably run into famous people (like Bill Clinton, Wallace Shawn and Cher) at the newsstand. They imagine underground beatnick caberets where I perform expressionistic dances and the jaded audience snaps their fingers to show their appreciation. And then, of course, handsome men in tuxedos shower me with roses, and we all jump into the Betheseda fountain. Yes, goslings, they imagine a mix of Blake Edwards movies, Audrey Hepburn's Funny Face, early Woody Allen, and La Dolce Vita all cooked up in a casserole. It would have to have a Henry Mancini soundtrack, wouldn't it?

Alas. I like that this fantasy edits out the Dickensian squalor, the working in a cubicle, and all the times I've been backed into a corner. I spend most of my evenings with NPR, and buy my own roses, usually orange or purple ones. When family visits me they are surprised by the abundance of peace and quiet.

But sometimes, if I stand back far enough and squint very hard, well (pfui, pfui, pfui, kaynehora, keep the evil eye away) maybe I can hear a Henry Mancini riff on a vibraphone in the distance.

Enjoy being the black sheep.