J.Cruel

Constant. Sartorial. Wonderment.

The Jumpsuit Designer’s Daughter’s Friend

prousch-onesie

The invitation said “festive holiday casual-formal.” The holiday was Lord Monbatomby de Sassie’s birthday. She had not seen His Lordship since that regrettable evening aboard the Emperor’s zeppelin, when the Archduke of Bizzlebee (that old gas bag) was found playing with matches near the other, more flammable gas bag (although the Archduke’s views on the Falklands were quite incediary). At the time, she was passed out in the rear lavatory. (Too much Creme de Cassis.) When she awoke, they had landed in Svillandia, and His Lordship was gone, though she found his monocle lodged in a most unlikely place.

Nothing from him since then. Not a single cherry cordial, when once he had sent them by the hundred. (He liked to watch her eat them.) And now she was expected to spend his birthday weekend curtsying to a gelding and riding round his estate on his wife . . . or was it the other way around?

Finally. The perfect chance to return his monocle, and the perfect outfit to do so in.

Harem pants jumpsuit in black silk with peek-a-boo bodice. Hide your emotions.  Hide them in your pants.

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