Watching the adorable babas hunch around our village in adorably mismatched clothes, I wish I had adequate internet so that I could post pictures here. I envision a kind of Old World Sartorialist in which I’d document their giant nubbly sweaters, the folds of thick stockings around thick folds of ankle, and their shawls’ variegated colors and patterns. Glory to God for dappled things! It reminds me of my college years and my attempts at looking like the bad girl in My So-Called Life, and then I worked for that newspaper sold by homeless people and they sometimes confused me for one of them.
Really, there’s so much incredibly interesting fashion here that I want to show you. I will do so now through haiku.
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Bright white Apple store,
Flash of florescent pink shawl –
Baba, you are lost!
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Tiny babushka!
Floral skirt and plaid shawl float
As you bicycle
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Poofy blue fur coat
and poofy pink, shoving me!
I drown in pastel
…
Slippered feet shuffle
Beneath pink terrycloth robe,
Cartoon sheep jumping
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Business in the front.
Are you a hipster lesbian?
Party in the back.
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Like gentle spring breeze
Floating across your black bra
Spiderwebs of mesh
…
Something I once accidentally said to scantily clad teenaged girls
If I’d dressed like you,
My mom would have like, thrown up
On herself and cried
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Like Ugolino
The hedgehog gnaws at your skull.
Ah, it’s just your hat!
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Little girl in bows
Which are all so enormous
And her head, so small
…
You pause from yelling
at cow, bundled-up baba,
To yell on your cell
Excellent excellent excellent. Wow.
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