Monday, September 29, 2008
Dancer is a gorgeous bag. Rich reds, browns, with bits of green, blue, black, and yellow; thanks largely to the tea towel I rescued from the thrift shop and reincarnated into a messenger bag. Her body is made of durable Mr Sample Guy fabrics; and her strap is reddish-brown on one side, and olive green on the other; thanks to a re-purposed table cloth.
If you are a dancer, go use your skills. Growing up Mennonite in the 60's and 70's meant distancing oneself fearfully from anything rhythmic that might get one's knees a-jigglin' or head a'boppin'. All that natural, God-given dance-ability got repressed right out of me at an early age. Shame.
One's head really ought to be intimately attached to one's body. No shame in that.
So, if you can dance, don't give up the skill. Or, if you were not born with three left feet as I was, go take some lessons or something.
(The interior pockets are formed from a pair of pants compliments of the generous owner of the Ceramics bag.)
Or, simply buy this bag and call yourself a dancer.
Bids are welcome until 8 pm, cst. Comments are always welcome.