This is about a dress. A pretty dress. This dress:
I actually own this dress. I bought it to graduate in last summer and it has matured into my elegant-yet-cool dress for special occasions. It’s from Zara, it’s a creamy off-white type colour with a lovely Japanese pattern.
I bought it because a drunk woman told me too. I don’t generally follow the advice of drunks but she really sold it to me. This dress, she told me, stretches when you eat too much and you get a pot belly. This dress makes you wiggle when you walk (in a sexy way, not like you’ve wet yourself). This dress doesn’t show your knickers if you fall over. And most importantly, this dress does not blow up in the wind.
The latter is now a serious consideration for me when I buy a dress. I’ve inadvertently flashed my drawers so many times that I’ve now taken to wearing leggings around York as a kind of modesty protector. It has been made worse by the fact that I cycle pretty much everywhere and skirts ride up, or get caught in things, or catch on your seat when you get off at traffic lights, or just catch the breeze and float away. So now you’ll find me in changing rooms, jumping up and down to try and simulate windy conditions to check the flightiness of skirts. I look odd, but it spares my blushes later.
So anyway, this dress is now for special occasions. Like my job interview (I got the job), or Mum’s birthday dinner, or my brother N’s 18th. Voilà:
|Lovely pattern, innit?|