Day of Beauty, Phase I

The windows of Kabul wedding shops are lined with blank-faced manikins wearing Bollywood confections in rainbow colors, glittering with sequins, and stiff multi-colored traditional gowns dripping with faux-silver jewelry. And those gowns are just for the guests. I was, frankly, dying to explore one of these shops with their all-male staff, and yesterday I got my chance.

I’d been invited to a wedding between two of the Afghans who worked at my guesthouse, and it was incumbent upon me not to let the bride down by looking like my usual, shlumpy self.

I was a bit worried I wouldn’t find anything, as I’m roughly twice the size in all directions of the average Afghan woman.

But I was in luck. Picture if you will black polyester bell-bottoms, with beaded and sequined front flares. Top them with a matching tunic, its sheer sleeves belling at the wrist. I figured I would have one opportunity in my whole life to wear a disco pantsuit outside of a Halloween party and look smartly dressed. This was it.

ABBA songs running through my head, I forked over the $30 without a quibble.