Having read in the news that St. Patrick's Day was observed on Friday, I wore my Christiane Celle Calypso Julia dress in an iridescent almost-jade silk.
It's green enough to count, but not green enough to look like it's on purpose. (I also avoid matching my clothes to the "holiday," so it's orange cashmere at Christmas and chartreuse for Valentine's.)
|My colour. I remove the elastic from the sleeves; |
puffs are perfect for Anne of Green Gables but are too little-girl for me.
But I was a little concerned: I had planned to pop into the Calypso boutique that evening, and realized that I would feel foolish wearing the house dressing, so to speak. But that's my "green" dress, so c'est la vie, I thought. At least it wasn't balsamic vinagrette.
I'd done my part for St. Patrick. Even if the rest of the city didn't seem to be following suit, curiously enough. Where was all the Irish spirit? And the green beer? I settled for delicious green, organic stir-fry at a terrific Thai joint.
So I was confused when I awoke the next morning to discover green t-shirts, furry green hats, green antennae, and even green painted-on shirts(!) parading about Michigan Ave. Of course the "real" SPD was on Saturday, and Chicago was luxuriating in it.
In my coral dress I walked with my family up to the Chicago River, where we watched the plumbers dye it green.
|The first of three green stripes. Source|
And yes, a feisty but polite leprechaun did pinch me on the bridge for wearing my coral dress.