Bea’s hand-me-down from Granny’s 1962 closet, stank of mothballs and meatballs, with hastily-added Snow White puffed sleeves to satisfy churchy peeps. Never mind the pedo elephant in the room, hiding your upper arms are imperative to keeping your reputation. Never mind also that she forgot her petticoats, and instead probably favored a thong. She smiled sweetly looking for unsweaty daddy. Where’s their Honeymoon? I hear Cuba’s nice in July. 🏝