12 January 2010
As I read a book on dress-making as an historical trade and hear my friends prepare fancy dresses for an upcoming re-enactment ball... I ponder how balls would have affected me. I see the worktables stewn with glittering satins and trailing ribbons... the piles of scraps growing into a mountain, threatening to overwhelm my worktable... I hear the excited chatter of other women and girls on who looks nicest, who made unfortunate choices, chipper chatter almost to high to distinguish as words... counterpointed by the sigh of men contemplating the arrival of my bill. I sit in my chair with my tea... and breathe... how long before the next one? days? weeks?