Henri MatisseThe state of my dress, or undress as is currently stands, remains questionable. All the sAlons are booked, booked, booked. "What will you wear to a certain considerably important Sunday brunch in late March?" bellows the sphinx. "Isabel Archer's 21st century cousin is loaning me something- mauve, I think-" I shout back, good-naturedly, and we both have a good laugh.
Nice ppost
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