Weekender: Five-Foot Two, Eyes of Blue

Let me just say that the Charleston was involved on Saturday, and that I simply cannot help myself when the Charleston is involved. There were long and lovely strands of beads, lent from a sudden, surprising source. There was a flower in my short curls, and St. Germain cocktails. And a speakeasy and lovely friends and lipstick and PIE. But most of all, there was the Charleston, which I am mad about, and which bewitches me in a way that few other things ever will.

Sunday, a deeply lovely picnic with cakes and bubbly drinks and dappled shade and very nice ladies who did not even gobble me up. And there were renegade crafts, of course, and a coconut ice. And then, back home, there was the very first plum of summer. And through it all, there was the Charleston. And though it is nearly Tuesday, I am left in my little house thinking Charleston thoughts and wondering whether anyone would mind so very much if I borrowed back the pearls and traipsed down the hall, singing "Five-foot two, eyes of blue..."

{Dancing Toes, Sartorialist}