Fifty-one weeks a year she puts on nothing in particular. Then the lunch moves back indoors.
Lunch comes back inside
The pranzo della domenica runs in courses from well past noon into the afternoon. All summer it happens outdoors, and nobody is looking.
Not forty minutes in low light
A dinner outfit gets one short stretch of scrutiny. This one gets a whole afternoon in daylight, from every seat at the table.
Something that needs no managing
Nothing to adjust after you lean forward. Nothing that shows what you spilled. Nothing you would have to explain.
You are the back of a sweater
At the sideboard, carrying the second course, half-turned in your chair. The front is under the tablecloth all afternoon.
The detail goes at the back
A collar that reads from behind. Buttons down the spine, noticed when she stands to clear the plates.