I just took a holiday. My maiden voyage, as it were. I was going to some shopping meccas.
After Dubai, I arrived in Singapore.
I felt impatient and a bit reckless. So, when I got there, I showered up, dressed up and went out shopping. I hunted around. I walked past a shop and eyed a dress in a window. I immediately walked into the shop and tried the dress on. It was 25% off. It was not something I would usually buy, not particularly practical, but it made me look and feel amazing, so I bought it.
I wore that dress every night I was in Singapore. It was gorgeous, and I loved it. It was long, silky, and in shades of burnished red, pale olive and turquoise. It made me feel attractive and sexy; it turned me into a new woman. I walked taller and with a beguiling sway in my hips.
The dress was beautiful, but there were times that it did not fit right. I had to nip it in at the waist with a belt, had to adjust the straps. No matter, it was beautiful, I thought.
At the end of my trip, I lovingly wrapped the dress, so it would not snag. I packed it securely in my baggage.
When I got back to Melbourne, I wanted to wear the dress again. I dressed it up with winter clothing, layering a cardigan over the top, and putting some long boots on. It looked good, but not as good as it did in the balmy heat. I had also changed subtly in appearance – more weight was lost, my tan faded, and it looked more and more awkward. It protected me poorly against the winter cold. Strangely, that just made me love the dress even more, and made me want to wear it in different ways.
It had crumpled a little bit during the flight, and, try as I would, I could not get the wrinkles out.
On a couple of occasions, when I bent over or moved too vigorously, I felt the thread straining and cracking. There were holes in the dress. Though it looked exquisite, it was poorly made.
One day I wore it. I sat down on the ground, as I was feeling a bit down from other things that were going on. RRRRIP. A hole appeared down the side. Not something that was reparable. I was surprised at how little it took to make the dress fall apart. I loved that dress so much, and I was really upset about it disintegrating. I had spent quite a bit of money on it.
I took it off, and regarded the material it was made of. Beautiful silk, but fragile. The hem had fallen down, and there were other, unseen holes in it too. I tried to sew it up, but putting the needle into the fabric made little holes.
The dress still hangs in my closet, and I can’t bring myself to throw it away, but I know I can’t wear it again. I look at it lovingly, multiple times per day. remembering all the good times I had in the dress. The amount of time spent looking at it is decreasing, slowly but surely. I imagine it in other ensembles, with this necklace, or those shoes and jacket, but know it just won’t work.
I won’t forget that dress in a hurry, but know, through no fault of my own, that it is ruined beyond repair. At some stage, I will have to bring myself to throw it away. Not just yet, but soon.
I know that there will be other dresses, but will choose them more carefully in the future. Because I cannot go around in a flimsy dress that has holes in it. No. I need something that is robust, bright and shows my curves to perfection; something that moves with me, that will keep me warm and comfortable with little extra effort.