“Gone are the sundresses! The sundresses, Ted! I don’t think I can make it another 8 months with no sundresses.” Barney Stinson, How I Met Your Mother
When I was in high school, my family went to church every Sunday. In those days, people still wore their “Sunday Best” to church every week. So every week I had the opportunity to see all the pretty teenage girls in their best outfits, hair perfect (in those days, usually teased up real big), make-up applied, the scent of sweet perfume floating around them. I loved the spectacle of Sunday mornings. It was something I looked forward to, maybe even more than being on a beach filled with the tanned and the bikini-clad.
Back then, I had a years-long crush on a girl in our youth group. If I happened to miss a particular Sunday due to illness, my friends would send me notes (kids, this is what we did before texting – we actually sent hand-written notes to each other and it was awesome) home with my brother letting me know which dress she was wearing. And this would invariably add to the pain of the illness, the frustration of not getting to see my friends. I could picture what she looked like and I knew what I had missed out on.
There’s just something about a girl in a dress.