Little. Black. Dress.
Oh how I loathe thee.
It didn’t use to be this way. Unfortunately, the last six years have colored my emotions towards you.
I remember the day in September 2010 when I bought my newest LBD; the realization that my mother was not going to survive much longer was looming large and as I was living out of a suitcase at her bedside, the realization that I had nothing funeral appropriate spurred my shopping trip. I went to one store, I tried on anything black, and walked out 30 minutes later with a simple elegant timelessly sophisticated black sheath dress.
Fast forward to January 2014 and my father’s passing, then May 2015 when my dear grandmother passed. I joked, well, half-joked that I should burn my LBD after my grandmother’s funeral. I didn’t burn it, but the thought still lingers.
I have worn the same dress to mourn the loss of all three of the most important influential people in my life. Every time I don my dress, I receive compliments – my babies tell me how pretty I look, I’ve been told I look hot, great, sophisticated, etc. The best compliment I received from my uncle was that I looked “like a movie star.” All the things a girl wants to hear in her little black dress.
We lost that same uncle to cancer this week, and once again I find myself packing that same black dress into my luggage as I prepare to fly north and pay my tear-filled respects. Four funerals in six years is enough.
Ironically, a clothing catalog arrived this week as well, advertising Little. Black. Different. One word struck me, the word different; it’s time for a new little black dress. As if I needed another excuse to go shopping but this excuse I am going to embrace.
Clothes don’t make the woman. But, sometimes they influence how we feel and it’s time for me to feel differently about the quintessential little black dress.
RIP dear sweet Uncle Pete.