The Little, Black Dress

Last night, my “buds” and I were talking about mid-winters ball and what we would wear to it. They were discussing what dress clothes they brought with them to Tech, while I immediately thought of the only dress I had that was appropriate—the classic “little, black dress”. I am almost certain that every female has owned a little, black dress. Minus my prom dress, every dress I have ever bought since adolescence has been a black dress.

I suppose there is some deep connection between the female psyche and the little, black dress. Starting with the infamous “little, black dress” from Breakfast at Tiffany’s with Audrey Hepburn, every woman needed to own one. The “little, black dress” is the staple in every woman’s wardrobe, a dress that can be worn to weddings, funerals, dances, and every other event that requires any type of formality.

Over the past five years, I have acquired five “little, black dresses”. All of which, I have worn to multiple events, minus the most recent to my collection. Women buy this particular dress, not because it is some crazy, estrogen-influenced waste of money, but because of how the dress makes us feel. Not everyone can “wear” a certain color, but the “little, black dress” is the classically universal dress for every woman. Unlike every other dress, the “little, black dress” is the one in all of our closets that gives us a different feeling than all the others; it makes us feel sexy and sophisticated without altering each of our individual personalities. Every woman needs the “little, black dress” in order to truly have a complete wardrobe and possess a feeling of womanhood; this dress is the one common thing among all women and something we can all relate to.

Awaiting Spring

In the middle of January, I find all that I can think about today is spring. Although I am a winter baby and have lived in Pennsylvania for most of my life, I have never been accustomed to the cold or snow. In fact, winter depresses me with its infinite darkness, cold gusts of wind across the Drillfield, and the pieces of ice and snow blowing like sharp knives against my face. Winter seems to be the death of happiness. I feel as though I never see the light of day and the cold wind wishes to suffocate me. I’m forced to be indoors in order to escape the bitter cold and even the mug full of hot chocolate with those fun little marshmallows cannot save me from the feeling that winter has overcome my being. The only fathomable reason for winter’s existence is to feel the approach of spring and the hope and beauty it brings.

It’s somewhat strange, but I do not follow that ridiculous groundhog and his indication of spring. One day, usually in March or April, I wake up and I feel spring. Most of my friends think I’m crazy, but I truly do. I can taste it in the cool morning air and smell it in the dew-kissed blades of grass. The trees have small buds on them and the world doesn’t seem so dry and brown. Spring makes me feel more alive; it’s the time when it’s not freezing cold, but not blazing hot like the middle of July. Waking up in the spring, I feel goose bumps on my skin and breathe in the cool morning air. It makes me feel like running and taking in its beauty. Usually, I run until I feel I can’t take another step. Panting for breath and my heartbeat fast but constant, I breathe in the refreshing air, which tastes like the sweet grass. Coolness of the air reaches every inch of my skin and fills my lungs with the same feeling. I am completely alive and free from the cold and darkness of the winter that now plagues my very being.