Southern Discomfort

I’m heading up to Boston this weekend for the quarterly gathering of the Hostess Underground, a not-so-secret society of lovely ladies who appreciate the poetic nuance of a carefully chosen cocktail. I haven’t been able to attend one since the well-populated late-50s-afterparty-a-la-Far From Heaven-themed soire of fall 2004, so for this one I went so far as to get a dude on eBay to express-mail me a genuine Waffle House uniform shirt that I’m thinking might work with a studded belt and jean skirt. I just got it, and I think it’s even ironed. For realz, y’all.

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