Published in Rebellion Lit’s THE START anthology
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It seemed odd to Marge—a costume party? At their age? But George said no, not costumes—more like ceremonial garb, to ring in the new year. And hadn’t she worn a choir robe each Sunday back at the Presbyterian Church in Boise? Hadn’t George worn his academic regalia at every U of I graduation, and would again, here at Seattle U? He was right, of course. And with the decade about to change over—1960!—what better time to try something different?
“Come on, honey,” he said. “I want us to fit in.”
She wanted that, too—to be invited to potlucks and the coupon club and the garden society. So Marge put on the dark, shapeless frock and half-length veil George had brought home, and he dressed to match—though he wore a robe with a zip front, not a gown, and a mask instead of a veil. To complete her look, Marge painted her lips a deep shade of red and strapped on stiletto heels. If the party theme was “sexy mourner,” she told herself, she’d be dead on.
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Published on July 14, 2023 11:47