Did I somehow put my foot in it?
“I didn’t mean—” I began.
Prudence spoke over me. “You really think so?”
I was confused.
“Well, of course. Don’t you like it?” I tried a smile. “I mean, you’re wearing it.”
“I love it,” she said like it was an admission.
“You should. It’s fabulous,” I stated.
“It’s weird,” she replied before adding, “I have weird taste.”
What Battle shared earlier about Prudence being bullied came to me, my anger at learning this refreshed, and it drove me to speak.
“I don’t know what weird is,” I returned. “I’m sure some could say Vivienne Westwood is weird, but there are few with any true knowledge of fashion who would agree. The same with Alexander McQueen, God rest his soul. John Galliano. Jean-Paul Gaultier. Would you call any of them weird?”
“Well, no.” Another admission from Prudence.
“And one could say that the costume designers who dress Sarah Jessica Parker put her in some pretty extreme getups, but she pulls them off, because they might be extreme, but they’re awesome. Do you like Sex in the City?”
“I haven’t watched it, but I know what you mean,” Prudence said.
I took a sip of my drink then brandished it while concluding, “Therefore, weird is in the eye of the judgy, bitchy, fashion-ignorant beholder, wouldn’t you agree?”
A small smile played at her lips. “Yes, I’d agree.”
“But also, it takes some courage to like what you like and not worry about what other people think about it. Though, mostly, if they have something to say, it’s probably because they’re jealous they don’t have the guts to be who they are and let that show, not giving a stitch what others might think, which takes some seriously strong ovaries to pull off, something you do effortlessly. Am I wrong?”
“I-I don’t think so, no,” Prudence stammered.
“I’m not,” I affirmed and looked around the room, but avoided Battle when I did so, and not only because of the question I asked. “So we can all agree Prudence’s dress is fantastic?”
“I already told her that, but she never listens to me,” Temperance said.
“I told you that too,” Chastity whisper-spoke directly to Prudence.
“You’re my sisters. You’re supposed to say nice things to me,” Prudence replied.
“Not true,” I stated. “A real sister, blood or otherwise, will lay it out for you. What she won’t do is say something that would make you feel you have to hide your light under a bushel. What you wear might not be their tastes, but does that mean, since what they’re wearing isn’t yours, you don’t like what they’re wearing?”
“They always look lovely,” Prudence asserted.
“And I’m sure, so do you,” I returned. “At least, that’s what I’ve noticed about you.”
“Thanks, Vivi,” Prudence said shyly.
Glances were being exchanged, so I chanced one at Battle to see he wasn’t participating in this.
He seemed deep in the study of what appeared to be a G&T.
He only looked up when Chastity unusually took the reins of the conversation, and her whisper was slightly louder when she lifted what appeared to be a daiquiri and announced, “I think now we should toast our guest and officially welcome her to our home.”
“Hear, hear!” Prudence exclaimed, lifting what appeared to be an old fashioned.
Temperance just tilted her glass to me.
