Wench Time, Part Two

I promised y'all another look at the wench dress, so here we go. I could blather on about the ribbons, the buttons, the basic sexless look, but instead I'll include a short excerpt from the story:

I stood there, a twenty-two year old, newly minted college graduate, swallowed up and safe in my dress that, from his distance, probably appeared like a swatch of Andrew Wyeth's hilly Maine landscape, a patch of Wyeth's late November grass.