Post by The Exodus on Feb 20, 2013 16:38:32 GMT -6
Devi Kumar
Devi Kumar was the kind of woman who never looked less than stellar. It was an initiative she’d taken when she swapped black lipstick for red and paid to have her navel piercing removed and healed up by a couple of doctors. It was part of an image she cultivated: the pretty, preppy wedding planner. Only her parents, her sister, and Solange would guess that five years ago, Devi would wander around Le Peripherie in the dead of night, floating higher than an escaped balloon and looking like she belonged at a Cradle of Filth concert. She still roamed the shadier side of town, but these days, it wasn’t in search of some dive bar with a great grunge band. Instead, Devi was bargain hunting.
After all, a girl didn’t look as good as she did without paying a price. Some girls shelled out extra cash at Dior and Chanel; and some girls sifted through illegal secondhand stores.
Devi needed a new dress for a theme wedding. She hated theme weddings with a fiery passion. They were so tacky – especially before the bride and groom let her take the helm. But this one was just really bizarre. It was a superhero wedding. The bride kind of looked like wonder woman if you squinted; the groom had Clark Kent’s hipster glasses, but not his strong chin. Whatever. It was Devi’s job to make their fantasy of wedding as comic book characters a reality. And she had to find something she could fashion into a dress that didn’t look totally out of place at Comic-Con, but that also made sense at a classy wedding.
But unlike the old adage, Devi had no plans to wear her dress again. Right now, she was picking through the men’s rack of t-shirts, trying to find a fitted tee with a Bat Signal or something on it. She’d sew a tulle petticoat to the bottom and overlay it with fabric, make something truly unique out of it. Just as long as no one made her wear a body suit and cat ears.
Devi Kumar was the kind of woman who never looked less than stellar. It was an initiative she’d taken when she swapped black lipstick for red and paid to have her navel piercing removed and healed up by a couple of doctors. It was part of an image she cultivated: the pretty, preppy wedding planner. Only her parents, her sister, and Solange would guess that five years ago, Devi would wander around Le Peripherie in the dead of night, floating higher than an escaped balloon and looking like she belonged at a Cradle of Filth concert. She still roamed the shadier side of town, but these days, it wasn’t in search of some dive bar with a great grunge band. Instead, Devi was bargain hunting.
After all, a girl didn’t look as good as she did without paying a price. Some girls shelled out extra cash at Dior and Chanel; and some girls sifted through illegal secondhand stores.
Devi needed a new dress for a theme wedding. She hated theme weddings with a fiery passion. They were so tacky – especially before the bride and groom let her take the helm. But this one was just really bizarre. It was a superhero wedding. The bride kind of looked like wonder woman if you squinted; the groom had Clark Kent’s hipster glasses, but not his strong chin. Whatever. It was Devi’s job to make their fantasy of wedding as comic book characters a reality. And she had to find something she could fashion into a dress that didn’t look totally out of place at Comic-Con, but that also made sense at a classy wedding.
But unlike the old adage, Devi had no plans to wear her dress again. Right now, she was picking through the men’s rack of t-shirts, trying to find a fitted tee with a Bat Signal or something on it. She’d sew a tulle petticoat to the bottom and overlay it with fabric, make something truly unique out of it. Just as long as no one made her wear a body suit and cat ears.
