It was a warm summer day last year and I was taking care of errands in the city. I passed Orsay and saw they were having a sale. On a spur of the moment decision I went in, if only to riffle through the dresses, as they usually have pretty ones and yes, looking at dresses is a pleasant pastime for me.
I was about to leave, when I turned around and glimpsed some floaty off-white material with a flowery print that immediately made me think of overgrown green corners in a garden in bloom. I tugged the hanger free of the tangled mass of clothes around it and held an empire-waist maxi dress (colour me BBC’s Pride and Prejudice) with capped sleeves in my hands. The last one. I knew at once that this was definitely my style. The one hitch? It was a size smaller that I usually wear, but I tried it on and it fit.
Shortly after I went on vacation, and towards the end of the trip I knew exactly when I would put on the dress. The last time I wore it, I was feeling hopeful about something that did not come to pass. For a while, whenever I looked at the dress that barely had a chance to become the favourite I knew it could be, I would feel a tinge of sadness and hang it back up in the closet.
Winter came and went. Now it’s another summer. I put on one of my favourite dresses and felt hopeful about the things I had lined up for the day.
Ready to go.
Earrings: birthday present.
Bracelets: found here and there.