Jailhouse Chic…because how else would you describe a striped jumpsuit?
Alternate titles: Jailhouse Rock – cliché. Courthouse Rock – more accurate since we took these photos outside the Boston Municipal Court building, but it just doesn’t have the same ring.
Also Jailbait – although, it pains me to admit, that ship sailed over a decade ago. Gregor humors me and, if anyone asks my age in his presence, he’s quick to interject, “18, always” (which in itself is a bit of a compromise from my ideal, but he felt “seventeen” was too creepy even in jest).
In seriousness, I don’t lie about my age. Rather, with less than a year left of my 20s, I openly mourn the loss of my youth – and aging gracefully is not my style. I prefer denial (I’m not too old for pink hair and a nose ring, right?), anger (Out, damn wrinkles!), bargaining (I’ll wear SPF 70 every day and use every potion and cream in my arsenal), depression (It’s no use. I’m already too old to die young.), and, hopefully, a sense of humor.
Speaking of lost youth, a certain forever-young dandy in black is celebrating his birthday next week (which might explain my current preoccupation with age). We’ll be in Park City on our annual trip with his parents, but be sure to
thoroughly shame him send him some love next Wednesday.