Everyday is the same. Pushed to the left, pushed to the right. I hang, patiently, gleaming, waiting for the right person to pick me up. Day after day I get shoved into women’s armpits, along with their fall sweaters and jeans. I have learned that I’m never going to be a woman’s first choice. Most of these women are looking for practicality, a new fall wardrobe, wearability. I am a dress that spends 80% of its life hanging in a closet. But someday, the right woman will come along. I will be hers and only hers. Of course, like everyone, she won’t wear me all the time. When she does pull me out of the closet though, she’ll be a new person. The way her self-confidence goes through the roof, it’s as if I’m whispering compliments in her ear.
Each one of us wishes for that day, and for me, it came today. A woman tried me on with a few other items, I was definitely among the favorites, but she didn’t buy me. She carried me around for a while, contemplating. At the last minute, I was returned to the rack and she bought something else. I was devastated, I thought that was my last chance. The following week was similar to the preceding weeks, being picked up and put back over and over again. Then one day, the woman was back. She came straight up to me and grabbed me off the rack. This time she didn’t even try me on, just walked straight up to the cash register and swiped her card.
She took me home and put me on immediately. This was it, I was hers.
