Romancing the Clown

Some dreams are not meant to come true. At the age of fifteen I was obsessed with all things romantic. I had just seen “Dead Poets Society” and was convinced that poetry and romance should fill my life. Just picture a girl with enough candles to have a late night vigil, and you would see me. In this frame of mind I purchased, without even trying on, what I considered to be the perfect outfit, The Poet Shirt. It had puffy sleeves, a frilly neck and ... I was in love. Dashing home I immediately enshrined it in my room. Finally, the night of the school dance, the big moment had come. The evening was going to be perfect. I would enter the room, violins would swell, the lights would dim and all the previously unromantic adolescent boys would swoon and start speaking poetry. My plan was fool proof. Almost. I slipped the shirt on only to discover that my perfect outfit was not exactly perfect for me! The puffiness of the shirt and sleeves made my curves disappear, so that my torso resembled a droopy marshmallow, the neckline scooped so far off my neck that I would not be able to nod my head without revealing some serious cleavage, and to top it off, the frilly collar made me look like Bozo the Clown! I was not sure how such a beautiful outfit could be so wrong! Surely what was good enough for the poets would be good enough for me! So, I went to the dance in a less memorable outfit and the course of romantic literature went on without me.