Devonne Brown

I’m jealous. Connie is a six foot goddess who just bought a twirly emerald green velvet dress, with accessories.  That dress will flounce and flair and bounce all by itself. Can you imagine what kind of geometrical oscillations the thing will make when being propelled by a woman who knows how to work it? Think Marilyn Monroe and the subway grate, she’ll have that much velvet to play with and will flip it around like a Flaminco dress, subtly of course. Connie’s not a model, but she moves like one. She towers above everybody, wears stilettos, and walks the walk to give the world something magnificent to see when they look at her. She never disappoints.

Connie’ll make her lover crazy with that dress. I hope so anyway. That swirly, twirly emerald green dress will feed her power. Damn, I need a twirly dress too. I need the power. I am five foot three in the highest heels I can walk in. Got a bad knee too. Twirly dress, heels, bad knee, sounds like surgery waiting to happen to me, Mama. Water aerobics is more my speed.

No! Dammit I need to be hot too. I want a twirly velvet dress with rhinestone shoes. A woman of my size and stature is often mistaken for a Disneyesk fairygodmother. Diminutive, zaftig, scatterbrained, cute, not typical goddess fare. I refuse to be a fairy godmother, I can fix it with the right accessories. I’m sure I’ve already got the right brooches.

I’ll never be six-foot-two-in-stilettos-hot, and with luck, no one will confuse me for a proper fairy godmother. I’ll get a tatoo for spite if I have to dispel any creepy geriatric stereotype, but surely I can get away with twirly dress and accessories. The world needs more zaftig goddesses in twirly dresses and sparkly shoes. 

I am more than hoodies and sweatpants.