There was this dress at H&M. It was a black lace over nude silk, mid-length, bell-sleeved, a Jean-Luc Godard heroine kind of dress. I fell in love instantly. The only problem with this dress? They didn’t have my size. I tried one bigger, but no magic. So I left it, but I thought about it obsessively. As my friends can tell you, I talked about it constantly as well. “Maybe I could sew it?” “Maybe I could belt it?” “Maybe we could stop by H&M on our way home? I just want to try it on one more time.” “Maybe I’ll just run into H&M while you guys get coffee.” I stalked this dress. And then one day, I asked Kateyln to go with me one more time, I promise because I was having drinks with the Mayor (or at least in the same room as the Mayor), and I obviously had to wear THE DRESS. So we went, one last time, and there it was. My size. And it was perfect.
After a bit of a photo-shoot, we went and had champagne with the mayor (translate: drank champagne in the same room as the mayor, with 100 other people).
The dress and I then got kabobs with all the new people we met (the go-to cheapo food of Tours. These had banana sauce and fries on top. YUM.), then went and had beer by the river, and danced a bit at the Loire Bar.
It was magical. Just like my dress.