Caftans

#20 in an occasional series of repressed 70's memories that turn out to be true.

Yankee Candle should try a decades series. The 1970s would be an amalgam of Lectric Shave, Nair, Creme de Menthe, Chicken a la King, and cigarette smoke, all of which will linger in the folds of your hostess' caftan as she trails past you, dangerously close to her guests' ash.

The caftan was like a training outfit for the liberated lady who had given up her bra and girdle, but wasn't quite ready to show it.

That is... Maude rather than Carol

In her American burkha, highball in hand, the Hostess gets to be more comfortable than her guests, undistracted by fears of pantylines and snapped garters. No belts no pins no pads.

The envelope contains just one giant sheet of tissue paper for you to stick your head and arms through. where have you seen this before?

uh-huh.

The difference between the caftan and the muumuu is that the caftan is fierce: Liz Taylor wore a caftan. Barbie had a caftan. Barbie would not wear a muumuu.

Ladies, if you feel you are not gaining enough ground in your domestic squabbles, try looking more like his mother. Not his mother now, but how he remembers her" hot rollered Liz Montgomery hair without a part, surprised U's drawn over her opalescent-blue lids. A blouzy loud-mouthed broad with blood-red fingernails.

Get yourself a caftan and a brandy snifter and Edward Albee your living room.