Wisteria in bloom and today I wore kimono.

For children's day at the Japanese Garden in the arboretum. I volunteered to help serve tea to families throughout the afternoon at the teahouse and the master of the school, sensei, said I could wear one of her kimono for the occasion.

So two hours before the festivities began, I arrived at the school to be dressed. We finished just in time to leave for the garden.

I don't own the undergarments and had to improvise with a sports bra to flatten my breasts and a t-shirt and silk slip to absorb the sweat. There was a white silk underrobe for me, which crossed left over right and was tied tightly beneath the breast line. Its collar is stiffened with plastic webbing and the rope that's tied tightly also pulls on the back of the collar to bare the neck.

The kimono I wore was made for sensei but too big for her and a little too small for me, but she pulled and tucked until the hem hit the middle of my heals and a neat fold traversed my abdomen; till the seam followed my spine from the collar to the floor and the back was carefully accented with two fine creases from the shoulder blades. It was brick red and un-patterned; flowed like a ribbon. It was a color too subdued for my age.

Then she wrapped my middle in more rope.

And added towels to my sides to make me barrel-shaped, the Japanese ideal shape.

She chose an obi in sage and dusted with gold in a faint honeycomb pattern. She twisted it around me, pulled the buried end out and around to the back, crossed it with the long remaining end, which was presently flipped over my shoulder and pulled back through the loop of a forming knot until the box took shape.

A pillow was placed inside the box and secured by a knot around the front of my ribcage. A decorative silk sash covered the pillow and it too was tied around front and tucked just beneath the top rim of the obi.

Finally, a thick silk cord blazing chartreuse to blood orange was tied around the obi, knotted at my diaphragm and the ends looped back under the cord on the sides.

I own tabi, thank goodness. And I'd already put my hair up—a practice at which I have limited success.

Then we all piled in my car and we were three women driving down the road with the windows open. It was the funniest thing, to wear this dress, this thousands-of-dollars old eastern outfit, shifting gears in those skimpy flip-flops and the obi asserting itself between the seat and me.

The first thing you notice about your body when it's in kimono is that your middle is solid and nearly inflexible. You can't just bend over and pick up things. The inclination is to kneel to reach an item on the floor, which is exactly what you're supposed to do. And all that stiffness keeps your back straight as a board. You don't slouch. In fact, the tension around the ribcage allows you to actually relax and lean back into the obi to form a straight posture. Kneeling and standing on the tatami is easier.

And man, it's just cool, that silk cataract from the shoulders, claimed at the waist.

When we returned to the school, sensei showed me how to remove the kimono in a way that once was considered the epitome of seductive disrobing. She said the most sensual and exciting moment is when the obi is released. The sound of the thick and coiled silk unwinding and falling to floor incited ravenous passion.

So she untied the rope, the long silk ornamental sash covering the pillow and then the pillow itself. With a playful grin, she slipped the obi's knot and the long weight uncoiled, the layers scraping against themselves like taffeta and landing with a thump onto the tatami.

I could feel the captive heat escaping and found dampness had permeated every layer of silk to the outermost robe. We took it all off and hung the kimono to dry.