My in-laws' annual Oktoberfest party (yes, it is held in August) was the usual extravaganza: oompah music, extended family, happy children running amok in the yard, and the holy trinity of bratwurst, sauerkraut and spaetzle. Incidentally, this and St. Patrick's Day are the only two days of the year on which I drink beer. Nasty stuff (I'm a wine or gin girl) but who am I to spit in the eye of convention?
As we were getting ready to leave for the party, my husband observed that I was the only family member not wearing a Germany soccer jersey or the like and joked that I need a dirndl.
As it happens, but previously unbeknownst to him, I do own one, purchased on a trip to Austria with my parents in 1985 or thereabouts. I dug it out of the cupboard on the spot just for giggles and was gobsmacked to discover that the damned thing actually still fits me despite the fact that I turned TWELVE in 1985! Guess I haven't grown much since then, and since I was a chunky kid there was a little extra room for my taller adult self to occupy. Mine is pink, but the same general sort of outfit as the picture above with the jumper, short white ruffled underblouse and apron. Of course, I had to wear it to the party just to give everyone a good laugh (I felt like Little Bo Peep!) although you can be sure I brought jeans to change into. Bavarian milkmaids must be seriously uncomfortable. Petunia told me I looked beautiful when I came downstairs but Thing One rolled his eyes halfway out of his fool head...ah, the joy of embarrassing my children. ;)