Of course this usually happens on a grander scale like a chance meeting with someone special or a dream job, but it happened for me this weekend when I met a dress.
Yes, I said a dress.
You don't understand.
I try to form friendships with more dresses. REALLY I DO. But they're all usually so boring. Or expensive. Or both. And those expensive dresses are so snooty. They don't really want to come and hang out with me at the flea market or the beach or some hole in the wall restaurant we're testing. They want to go to da club. And I haven't seen the inside of da club in a looooong time. Not long enough as far as I'm concerned.
So anyway. There I was on Friday: still kinda woozy from being sick most of the week, remnants of a headache lingering in the background, when suddenly I decide maybe a little fresh air is in order. Next thing you know I'm in the Free People dressing room lying down on the little sofa
I'm trapped. I can't leave. I'm lightheaded.
Despite the fact that we are in the midst of a torrential rainstorm complete with thunder and lightning, tank tops and skimpy shorts, bandeaus and bandonts are being tossed around like rag dolls. It's 48 degrees! What are these people thinking? Why is that girl's mother paying for a pile of what appears to be bras for her 15 year old daughter to wear to Coachella? How is that girl getting there? She needs a JACKET. I've turned into my mother.
Somehow I manage to wait out the mob. You know, by holding up a fitting room for 30 minutes while the shopgirl laughs maniacally every time she slides open the curtain to see if I'm still alive. Thank goodness for being a regular customer or mall security might have been helping me to my car.
As I'm making my way to the exit I peer into H&M: people people everywhere. Nope. Can't do it.
I glance across at Zara: clothing lying all over the floor and lines reminiscent of Holiday. Uh-uh.
Just as I'm about to admit defeat, I see it.
After telling myself repeatedly: there is nothing in there for you, there it is hanging in the Madewell window: the striped dress. I'm not even really on the stripe wagon, but something about these stripes is different.
And my friend is working there now? It's a sign.
She tosses me into a room with the dress and a denim shirt (a good friend always knows)...
Cut to scene and I've made a new friend. I want to hang out with it every day. And by hang out I mean wear it from sun up until sun down. I love it so much I might need two. Kismet.
All I got was Instagram because I parked it on the couch for most of the weekend. I look forward to committing the ultimate blogging offense and wearing the dress on here again. Perhaps even a couple more times. *gasp*
