Him and Me.

Fifty-One.

I stared at the monstrous pile of dresses before me and fought the urge to wail. It was Friday afternoon, and Cynthia and I were at the mall to shop for the perfect dress (Cynthia’s words, not mine). So far, we had been to two stores and almost wiped the racks clean, but Cynthia had always found something off about each and every dress I had tried on. It was either it was too long, or it was too short, or the sleeves aren’t right, etcetera, etcetera.

We had finally arrived at The Vintage Shop, which I had suggested where we go to in the first place. After all, the theme of prom was the 1920’s. I didn’t think we’d find anything appropriate at Forever 21, but the cheerleader insisted. In the end, she bought a pair of earrings and a necklace from the store. I accused her of just wanting to buy those accessories rather than finding me a dress there, and Cynthia just pointedly ignored me.

Sighing, I trudged over to the pile, and began picking out random dresses. Don’t get me wrong, I loved The Vintage Shop, with all the other artsy and old stuff I found there, but like what I had mentioned before, I was not one to dwell on dresses.

My hand caught a huge, green velvet gown, and wrinkled my nose. It looked like something a character from a Jane Austen novel would wear. And hell, it was heavy. I plunked it down to the side and dug further through the array of clothes in that large box in the middle of the store. In that box contained the items on sale, hence that was where I went to. Cynthia was charging at the racks again, but I guess she found nothing of her liking because she had joined me and was now digging furiously through the box.

“There has to be something in here,” she muttered, and I silently hoped she was right. I didn’t think I could lift another heavy dress. Plus, I really didn’t want to go to another store. Clutching the piece of cloth I randomly picked up from the box, I prayed that my dress was here. I didn’t even care if it was pretty or not.

Okay, of course it had to be pretty, but it had to be here, in this box, in this store. Most importantly, it had to fit me.

Shopping could be so stressful sometimes.

Plus, if I had to touch anything velvet again, I’d probably scream. No kidding.

Then I heard Cynthia gasp, her oh-my-God-I-found-something-totally-awesome gasp, and it was the most beautiful thing I had heard all afternoon.

I turned to face her and my eyes widened, my mouth slightly dropping open. In Cynthia’s hands was one of the prettiest dresses I’ve seen. It was red, made of shimmery material, and ended just a couple of inches above the knee. It had a V-neckline and was sleeveless. It was chic, classy and glamorous. In other words, it was perfect for prom.

Barely having the time to recover, I found the dress shoved up my face.

“Try it,” Cynthia commanded, and she began pushing me toward the dressing rooms. This time, I willingly allowed her. As strange and as girly as this might sound, the dress felt right at home in my hands.

Yeah, I could not believe I said that.

Cynthia gave me a gentle push, causing me to careen inside the dressing room, and the last thing I saw was her happy smile before she shut the door. I shook my head, a small smile gracing my lips as I turned to face the mirror. A surge of excitement coursed through me and I quickly tried the dress on. Once I finished zipping it up, I took a moment to admire how well fitted it felt before glancing at my reflection again.

My eyebrows rose as I took in the person I saw staring back at me. The dress looked amazing. It fell just above my knees, and the shimmery red fabric went well with my creamy complexion. It was one of those few moments where I felt like a girly girl.