A Quote by Martha Shelley

...there was the annual Fourth of July picketing at Independence Hall in Philadelphia. ...I thought it was ridiculous to have to go there in a skirt. But I did it anyway because it was something that might possibly have an effect. I remember walking around in my little white blouse and skirt and tourists standing there eating their ice cream cones and watching us like the zoo had opened.
There's something about a long, high-waisted skirt and little, buttoned blouse that I really love.
If men wanted to look good in a skirt, they would need the body of an African. And the colour. A skirt with white, skinny legs. Horrible!
I actually think the same things do make most people happy. The differences are extremely small, and around the margins. You like peach ice cream; I like strawberry ice cream. Both of us like ice cream much better than a smack on the head with two-by-four.
When I feel like I'm in a rut, I remember it's the little things in life that are important, like riding a bike with a friend or eating ice cream with my baby niece.
I believe that it doesn't matter where you work or what you have access to because anything can help. If you're working in an ice cream shop, you can ask your boss if you can give away twenty ice cream cones to an organization every Friday afternoon. It's really interesting to see what people are willing to help you with if you can make it easy for them.
If I were going to prom again, I would wear a huge skirt and plain cotton tank. A big, poofy, flotation-device-sized skirt. I wish I had done that.
Even if it doesn't fit the woman, like, let's say a very short skirt, and the woman doesn't have the legs or the height to wear the skirt, but she has to wear it because it's fashionable. Don't do it! If it doesn't look good on you, don't worry about it.
A blouse that hits at the hips or above will keep you from seeming shapeless in a flowy skirt.
When I was 14, I thought I looked terrible. I wore these typical Slavic shoes with metal bottoms so you could always hear me coming and this really ugly princess skirt and blouse with the top button closed. I had a boy haircut, a baby face covered with pimples, and a really big nose.
I started in junior high doing the splits and flips and that kind of stuff. It was kind of the acceptable thing to do. But I had two older brothers, so I was a tomboy. I was the cute tomboy who could put on the skirt but then go tackle you or something. I was a little rough around the edges for a pretty woman!
I love eating chocolate cake and ice cream after a show. I almost justify it in my mind as, 'You were a good boy onstage and you did your show, so now you can have some cake and ice cream.'
I love the jacket with a varnish finish, a bomber. I adore the proportions, with the tight skirt, no stockings, very sexy - skirt to the knee.
I bring myself innately to it, yeah. I bring those details as much as I - what I don't obsess over is, there are certain ways I might've pushed it even a little more. For example, [to Warren] your accent. I know Warner Bros. at one point came in. I don't know, until you came to set, I know I wore that long tartan skirt and the ruffled blouse for that.
I notice her blouse has pulled out of her skirt in the back again and force myself to stay calm. "Tuck your tail in, little duck," I say, smoothing the blouse back in place. Prim giggles and give me a small "Quack." "Quack yourself," I say with a light laugh. The kind only Prim can draw out of me.
As a little girl in the '50s, I couldn't wear a purple-and-white flowered skirt with a red blouse - those colors were too loud. My parents were not into that 'We are Negros that wear all beige,' but there was a line you could walk over that could signal vulgar, crass, rather than clever use of color. And that outfit crossed over the line.
In the middle of the night I am awakened by a sound. I sit up abruptly in bed. I hear it again. It's music. Wait, it sounds like the ice cream man, in our house. Is this some kind of twisted nightmare? The flipping ice cream man, breaking in to chop us all up in our beds to the tune of 'Zippity Do Dah'?... My heart slows. I remember. There is no psycho ice cream man here. It is just our new musical soap dispenser.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!