Last year, I lost my mind. I bought a skirt for $400.00.
Who would buy a skirt for $400.00? Me obviously. I saw it, and fell in love, and even though I knew that $400.00 was a ridiculous amount of money to pay for a skirt, I bought it anyway. I couldn't help myself. It was one of those "I must have it or I will die moment," I don't have a lot of those, thank god. I'm usually very practical. But it was just so pretty. And I still can’t explain the mountain of expensive ballroom gowns in my closet half of which I’ve never worn.
I love to dress up, but I’m more of jeans and high heels kind of woman.
Back to my skirt: I wore it once. And few days ago, while cleaning out my closet, I ripped it by accident. I sat on the floor clutching the beautiful fragile material to my chest feeling horrible. I think I ripped the part of it that cost $400.00. I wanted to cry for the skirt, but more so for my foolishness.
"D" called while I was sitting on the floor with the torn skirt.
"You sound sad," He said. "What's wrong?"
"I tore my skirt," I said.
I almost giggled picturing what must’ve been going on in his head.
He waited for me to say something else. I didn't.
"Well I'm sure you can fix it,"
"I can't," I said
"Why not? You can sow, can’t you, Kitten?"
I could hear the banter in his voice. He knows that I can’t sow. I’m a domestic disaster. And he finds it amusing.
"No, I can't. And even if I could, it wouldn't make a difference. It's ruined. No one can fix it,”
He paused again.
"Babe, it's a just a skirt,"
"It costs $400.00,” I said.
He paused. "You bought a skirt for $400.00?"
"Yes," I said.
"Is it made of gold?"
"No. It’s just really pretty,"
"Do you buy $400.00 skirts often?"
"No. I'm usually very practical," I said. Except when it comes to really pretty skirts and ballroom gowns that I seldom wear. I thought.
“Well next time you come over wear one of your pretty skirts so that I can lift it up and have fun with what's beneath,”
“Next time,” I promised.
Next time…I sat there for a moment then I got up and got one of my extravagant purchases down. The delicate black material hugged my chest and exaggerated the smallness of my waist when the full shirt flared and flowed to my feet covering my toes. I felt better almost immediately. I stepped into the beautiful pair of heels I bought to go with it.
I clasped a silver choker around my neck.
I applied lip-gloss, my favorite color eye shadow, then mascara, and fluffed my hair.
And I stood there looking at myself loving what I see and feeling the comfort. Take from that what you will. I don’t care.
It’s not true when I say that I cannot explain the collection of ballroom gowns in my closet. They have their purpose.
Every time I find myself feeling down and heartbroken. Every time I sit down for a good cry, I get dressed up. There is something about looking like a princess with tears rolling down my face that has a healing effect for me. Feeling at home in my skin and out of it at the same time. It keeps things in perspective. This moment will past and carry the hurt with it. And when finally I wipe away the tears, there I will remain, refreshed and ready to step back into the world.
I wasn’t getting dressed up for the skirt. I just needed a minute or two to kick myself about the four hundred dollars.
I got dressed for “D”. When we get into a relationship, defined or not, once we start sharing intimacy there’s a bit of emotion that’s involved. (I’ve heard that this is not so for men and I’m willing to believe it) but I know that I feel something. If I didn’t feel something for “D” I wouldn’t be sleeping with him. I like him. He makes me feel good, and knowing that he’s getting ready to leave does leave me a little sad, sad enough to get dressed up and sit around doing nothing for a while. Enough for me to pull the hurt close and absorb all of it so that come tomorrow I will be able to let it go.
If we don’t face our feelings, if we don’t deal with them, they don’t go away. I feel everything deeply. I love and hurt and experience sadness and joy with all of me. That’s why I’m able to start over from scratch every time. I realized this a long time ago.
And so now I cry until there’re no tears left. I hurt until there’s no hurt left, and no sadness and no pain. I feel it all.
One day when I was home mourning over “B” Allan called to see what I was doing. I told him I was sitting around thinking. He knew what that meant. He showed up about an hour later dressed as if he was going to the prom. And I opened the door looking as if I’d been waiting for him. All decked out and as beautiful as can be with not a strand of hair out of place.
I giggled. He said he’d come to be crazy with me. And we sat around watching TV and talking. And the few times when I broke down, he wiped my tears and told me that I looked too pretty to be crying.
I love that guy.
Anyway. I sat around for a while until I felt ready to take them off again.
I know this may sound a bit strange but we all have our ways, do we not? Mine just happen to be ballroom gowns that seems a waste of money, but are they really when they’re the first things I reach for when I’m feeling a little torn inside.
I will not be heartbroken when “D” does leave. We haven't seen as much of each other as I would've liked because of our workload and my time with my boys. We haven't had as much sex as I craved. We haven't quite gotten what we have off the ground. But I will be a bit sad. I do realize that every story has an ending. And there will always come a time when we turn the last page. And when the time comes, I will turn the page and end the chapter of my life with "D"
The amazing thing about life is that we get to be a part of more than one story. We end one chapter and we get to start a new one. Too often I hear people say that we only get one chance to do things right. I disagree. We have the chance and the choice to constantly rebuild and recreate and change ourselves and our lives. And this is true as long as our mind and body is intact.
Isn’t life amazing?