Growing up playing dress up was my favorite activity, and my mother indulged this obsession; we had the best collection of dress up clothes of all our friends. She would hit up the thrift stores on dollar days and collect all the craziest gowns and fluffy dresses. None of those poorly constructed "dress up packs" for us: we had real clothes, although a little big mostly. We even had our own place to play; a huge basket in one of the outbuildings kept all our hats and dresses and gloves and shoes, and rainy days or sunny days of lonely days or visits from friends found us outside creating elaborate tales of royal courts or beauty pageants, trailing across the yard, decorating the pony cart, using puppies as our minions. When I acquired a camera, these play sessions would turn into photoshoots, the proof of which still resides stashed in albums.
Now, twenty years later, I'm still playing dress up. I collect all these clothes that still don't fit me, and I find myself, like yesterday, spending hours at a time creating an alternate world, one in which the light is magic and paper hats are worn and flowers are everywhere. They say to be careful what you wish for; I seem to have gotten it.