Belly Dancing

This was an outfit that went straight from work to going out; it was Laura's birthday last week and we double-dated at Marrakesh, a Moroccan restaurant complete with belly dancers. Laura and I were even persuaded to go up and join in for one song, and the outfit proved to be plenty comfy for a little belly dancing. Which, by the way, is a lot more difficult than it looks.

Laura's birthday having passed means that my own is just around the corner. But every year I make the most of these few weeks of difference in age to give Laura all kinds of grief about how old she is, in the form of a birthday poem. I've been doing this since Laura turned 22, mind you. And every year it gets more and more difficult, because really there are only so many ways to tell someone they're old.

I've rhymed "superannuated" before, I've discussed how Laura baffles scientists because her bones are too old to carbon date, I've placed her back in ancient times on the banks of the Tigris River, drinking mead from an earthen jar and learning to read in hieroglyphics. I've thrown in references to Depends, a walker, pushing up daisies, false teeth, the

whole nine yards. I've talked about how her lifetime is known to geologists as the "Laurassic Era." And this year I described how, being so old as to predate any modern form of transportation, she arrived in North America on foot via the Bering Strait land bridge. It's getting tough, I tell ya. How I'm going to keep this up for another 40 or so years I really can't tell.

Dress: All Saints
Jacket: thrifted
Necklace: Manu Lizarralde
Belt: thrifted
Skirt: a gift from Mom
Boots: Modern Vintage