The king
I have a number of dresses in my suitcase that were in the back of my closet at home in California, now destined for Iceland. I have no idea if they will like it there, but since they were mostly thin silk shell dresses, rather than a poofy affair, I decided to stick them in my luggage.
I wonder if they will get much use in Iceland, none of them being black and Icelandic women tending only to wear black at formal occasions.
But I do know at least one of them will get some use this Friday night, when I am having dinner in Uppsala Castle. The king won't be there, which is a good thing, since the dress I most want to wear is the same one I wore when I met King Gustav in 2002 (not that he'd remember, but that is just tre gouche).
I hope Professor Mitchell will be willing to dust off his dancing shoes to take a whirl with me on the floor like he did in Alaska a few years ago at another academic conference (after I went up to him and said, 'Come on, let's dance' -- having met this Harvard professor the day before, it seemed like the appropriate thing to do). If not, anyone sitting alone at a table should watch out.
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