Prompt:
You favorite article of clothing has finally out-lived its life (and then some). It's time to say goodbye, but you love it so much you feel a need to send it off properly. Write a eulogy dedicated to that piece of clothing and all the times you shared together.
We first met in a discount designer store. The entire store full of fanciful designer labels that I could otherwise never hope to afford. Still early into my university years, I eagerly snapped at the deals the store offered.
You weren't even my first choice. Mom picked you out and said here, try it. I dithered several times, but she shoved you into my arms. I carried you with the rest of my heap of clothing to be tried and fretted over.
Even after wearing you out and smoothing your red, soft skirts in front of the 3 sided mirror, I wasn't sure. I only brought you home because everyone complimented how nice you looked on me.
You stayed, unworn in my closet for several more weeks. While the white one shouldered chiffon dress got its mileage. you sat with the tags on.
Then one day it was Valentine's day. Valentine's day with my first, serious boyfriend. And I had an actual dinner and date planned that night.
I tried and discarded every other red dress in my closet. You stared at me. I slipped you on and you looked right.
The way your deceptively casual round neckline sits, almost t-shirt like. The careful banding across my waist to give the illusion of slimming. The wide skirts and all in that vibrant shade of red. It's a 'look at me' red.
I wore you with glittery jeweled earrings and gold sequined high heels. We stole many looks that night, even as I tottered in the unfamiliar heels on slippery floors.
You were with me that night, too. While we talked through the night and shared so much intimacy.
Thereafter you became 'the dress'. I wore you to every big function. To a fancy brunch at a tea house with old classmates. You were adorned with a white ribbon neck sweater. To a group dinner after class. I wore you under my heavy backpack.
And each time you made me feel so confident, so down right pretty, that I became addicted to the feeling of wearing you.
One of our last outing was the big Founder's dinner. You've arrived into medical school with me, and still remain my flashy, eyes-on-me red dress. I almost ha a disaster before the dinner. One of your sleeve's threads had come loose. The fabric no longer folded properly and became asymmetrical on both sides.
I sewed/sutured you in a hurry and thought crisis averted. And we glided through a museum of Canadian art, pretended that we were cultured enough to appreciate the modern arts, and enjoyed a dreamy night of friends, good food and laughing.
It wasn't that long after. It was our final pro comp meeting, and I wore you with my favourite white wool coat, the one with ruffles down the front. While signing cards for our preceptors, a pen fell in my lap. And ink all but exploded out.
Black marks, all down the middle of your vibrant red skirt. I thought I would wash it off.
I got home and washed. Soaped. Alcohol wiped and cried. Nothing made it budge, and the area around the pen had lightened to a chemical stain orange. I brought you to my favourite seamstress and asked her to save you. She couldn't.
I sent you home to mom after that. I'm not ashamed to say I cried over the loss of you. You've been on countless dates with me. Draped perfectly through kisses and hugs. You've been to so many professional outings. Looked perfectly proper while I tired to remember to sit with a straight back.
I wish we had more time. We had so many more places to see. But I'm glad to have ever had the chance to wear you.
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