Renaissance.

I wish I was more cultured. Sophisticated. I'm sitting here now in sweatpants and my hair down, but every once in a while I dream of wearing an elegant gown with a criss-crossed corset design in the back. It would be strapless, perhaps light pink, and I would have my hair up - although a couple of loose, curled strands would still be allowed to fall in my face. My eyes would be bright and full of life, my lips curved in a polite smile. I don't know where I would be or who I'd be with. Maybe at a ball, maybe having afternoon tea. We would talk about Monet's lily pads and Van Gogh's tortured soul. We'd compare the architecture from the Baroque period and the Gothic period. We would discuss impressionism and realism. Beautiful music would fill the background, and I would know exactly who the composer was. Sometimes, when I have watched too many superficial movies or filled too many of my conversations with meaningless gossip, my life feels rather trivial. Silly. I ought to sit down with a proper cup of coffee and read Edith Wharton's The Age of Innocence or take out a sketch pad and draw something beautiful. Now that would be a better use of time.

By the way, I self narrated all of this in an English accent. But even in my head, I don't think I could get that right.