I used to have this recurring daydream that I can’t quite weave into a story. I’d walk into a Red Lobster-type restaurant, the kind where you wait for the host(ess) to seat you. Only in this restaurant, the hostess is invisible. She’s also a clothes horse, and since she’s invisible she enjoys playing with people’s minds by being only partially dressed. One day she might wear a miniskirt with stockings but no top; the next, jeans and a tube top under an unbuttoned shirt. She’s tried everything: she has come to work in white tights and NO other clothing; in a clingy red sleeveless minidress with red stockings; a white T-shirt with nothing else; just skin-tight jeans; cropped T-shirt with biking shorts; a bodystocking — you name it, she’s tried it at least once. She won’t go naked, though; she says, “How would anyone know where I was without getting their nose broken?”
My favorite outfit, though, is this: black New York Mets baseball cap (she’s a diehard rain-or-shine, win-or-lose fan), shades, earrings, necklace, bracelets, rings, a black bra, and tan knit leggings with black walking shoes. As you can see (or not), she’s feisty, so nobody tries anything with her, even though she has their imaginations working overtime when they see these clothes moving around apparently by themselves and they know that she’s not fully covered.