I've been shopping for my 1980s-themed bingo outfit for several weeks and have discovered that 1980s Laura Ashley dresses do not have ample room for bosom. This proportional fact aligns with the hatred I had of my developing bosom and my fear of getting bosom of any sort during the 1980s. I know some people were scared of the AIDS epidemic, quick sand, and ending up on a milk cartoon as a victim of kidnapping. I am not making light of all that (quick sand is dangerous, as far as I know). The thing is for a preppy suburban girl, large bosom was the enemy.
After Laura failed me, I stumbled into the find of a lifetime in the local thrift store. I will not disclose the exact nature of this find, just know that when you see the images, it is not a photo from 1985 but from 2025. You will be confused because it is that authentic and also because my phone camera has a permanent haze across it, which gives a nice authentic, thematic filter.
I will be writing Ms. Ashley a letter about how she inflicted trauma upon me then and now, 30 years later.
At the thrift store, I also found a photo of a couple on their wedding day (see the photo in the post). The groom has a shotgun that is aimed right at his foot. And I know it is none of my business, but I'd really like to meet this intriguing couple and ask them questions: Did you eventually shoot yourself in the foot? Do you live on a farm? Can I see your complete wedding album? What did the bridesmaid wear?). Tucked behind their shotgun wedding photo was a picture of a boy, who just opens up the door to more questions: Why wasn't he given top billing? Would he have made the front of the frame had he been in thematic garb? Is he their son?
I am sure I'll never know.
I know there are more important things in the world--I am living lots of those things with the work I do as a science writer. But during these tumultuous late-January days, I am very thankful that I have photos of strangers and 1980s bingo to keep me distracted.
Earlier, I had a brief period of indecision over Texas caviar (a delightful bean salsa you make by opening cans and chopping things) and 7-layer dip. I need to make one for our bingo tables and the decision felt very important. I've decided on 7-layer dip. To keep my mental health in check, I decided to spend at least 4 hours comparing 7-layer dip recipes to ensure I make the most authentic 1980s version of the dip. It's better than refreshing all the news websites or getting angry at things posted on social media.
So, I am trading my 7-layers of tumult for 7-layer dip, I suppose. Maybe this is the recipe for mental wellness when times feel out of control. Dips, after all, are universally delicious and an invitation to share a snack and maybe agree that, yeah, this 7-layer dip is really good.
At least I hope it will be, I'll see what the recipes bring.
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