Wearing It the Best I Can

"Every dress has a story," my friend told me repeatedly tonight.

Since I have a lot of dresses, I have to assume that means I have a lot of stories.

For her, it was a rationalization for not getting rid of dresses she no longer wears.

I met that friend at Bonvenu, where we lucked into a charming bartender and a changing crowd of colorful characters.

Waiting for my ever-tardy friend to arrive and not ready to order until she got there, the bartender suggested he pour me some wine to taste to occupy me while he took a smoke break.

Okay, Manon Rose will do.

I continued with the Manon once my friend arrived full of excuses about parking problems. Since we had lots to catch up on, we ordered right away.

The grilled hearts of Romaine salad had grilled sweet corn, goat cheese and a sunny side up egg with lemon and roasted garlic vinaigrette.

I am enjoying finding fried eggs atop almost everything these days (tartare, risotto, salad) because the richness of the yolk is a welcome addition no matter where it lands.

Our ex-builder bartender highly recommended the flat bread pizza with Hanover tomatoes, fresh Mozzarella, grilled Vidalia onions and EVOO.

He said four bar patrons had already ordered it and raved about it. I wanted to be the next raver.

And it was good, with a generous four pieces of flat bread and tomatoes to die  for (if not now, when?).

Afterwards, on my way downstairs to the loo, I passed a girl who followed me to the stairwell.

"You are beautiful in your dress," she called to me as I descended the stairs. "You are wearing it!"

I have no idea where that came from.

After dinner, our bartender insisted we try his Flirtini overage (vodka, Chambord, pineapple juice, Triple Sec and Champagne) despite my insistence that I'm not a cocktail drinker.

It seemed to pack a punch, although I'm not a qualified enough cocktail drinker to say much beyond that.

Tonight's music was made for me, with all indie selections from the past three or four years. I couldn't find fault with a single song.

An interesting-looking group came in and claimed the stools next to us. The central character looked at me and said, "You are lovely in a way that says that you don't care. Can I buy you a shot?"

Turns out that he was a (white) rapper and as opinionated as I am. When I said my preference was tequila, he said, "But not Patron, right?"

Right he was because I know that Patron's popularity is due to marketing not, flavor, and there are many far better sipping tequilas.

He was impressed with my anti-Patron sentiments and approved of my choice of Cazadores Anejo.

You never know what captures people's attention.

Another group followed them and this one delivered us a friendly Canadian eager to show us his tattoos and talk about seeing Josh Homme in Copenhaegn.

That lasted for about ten minutes before his girlfriend reeled him in. He spent the rest of the evening looking like a beaten pup.

My girlfriend spent the night telling me about her organizational efforts.

She was divesting herself of old clothes (including some of the storied dresses), reading letters from her past and sorting through old photographs.

I have letters written to me by passionate boyfriends in college. I have photographs going back at least that far.

But unlike her, I never hesitate to give away a dress I don't wear, no matter how good the stories are that go with it.

I prefer to focus on the stories that will come with the dresses that I keep. A few hanging in there right now have doozies attached to them.

Being the optimist that I am, maybe I'm always hoping that a dress' potential has yet to be reached.

You just never know what reaction the right dress might bring...or who it might come from.