I was feeling pretty. New dress that swoshed when I moved from side to side. Lovely halterneck. Amazing burgundy which accentuates my raven black hair.
I go to him after the party is over to just relish the feel of the clothes and makeup still spot-on after a night out.
“I felt pretty tonight”, I say, ” but after seeing the other girls, I’m not so sure about the dress anymore. I got it to go to cocktails and weddings and maybe a Christmas party is no longer the place to wear it. All the other girls had mini-skirts or low-cut dresses looking very sparkly.”
“Yes, but they probably have very different body types to pull it off”, he says. “Maybe they are more petite”
I listen quietly. What has started off as an observation of mine, is turning into one of his.
“You know, you’re a bit on the bigger side. If you had a tight dress on, you’d probably have some rolls showing”, he laughs awkwardly. “You know, “, he presses on, ” ’cause the dress is so tight, there’s no place to hide the belly”.
I no longer feel pretty anymore. Or curious about his observations.
I slump down on the sofa looking at the edge of my dress as he resumes his gaming session.
It wasn’t the dress, it was me.