Sari Critique

Each sari is a work of art.

I find that the best art appears simple, but is not simplistic.

My mother brought home a few saris from her recent trip to India, only to disappoint me. 

She got herself the deep, rich hues dappled with fine embroidery. I got the "happy" saris, things I imagined cheerleaders wore (I once aspired to be one in junior high, so I'm not much better than you). 

I'd never don the aquamarine color, and the embroidery was unimpressive. She said my dad picked out the color, but she could've said no.

The cream didn't strike me at first, but I was a bit taken by the amber stones strewn delicately across the 6-foot papery silk fabric. But points deducted for the sequins.

I told her this is the last time she buys anything for me. She got the Picassos -- I got the kindergartner's construction-paper drawings. She laughed.

Also, it's over between me and Facebook. I de-activated. So you'll see me on Twitter more than ever.