Parade

Marti Gras came each year.  Each year she had obligations elsewhere, but she swore she would make it one day.  One day slid by quickly, years passed in a blink of an eye.  She held on to that costume, it fell apart, she repaired it.  The costume faded, she dyed new life back in, but the years march on.  Her friends knew she'd never make it to Rio.  They created a  Marti Gras they in that small northern town.  She gabbed her makeup and applied it with more trowel than brush.  She squeezed into that reanimated costume and climbed aboard her neighbors son's convertible and was driven down main street.  She was never happier, although you could not start up a conversation with her and not hear about that day from many years to come.