Love Worth Dying For

The Fitting

I groaned internally at what my mom was making me do. She was making me try on dresses. I know, I'm a 16 year old girl, I should love this stuff. But I don't. I'm not the average teenage girl, I hate dresses and I hate my mom. When i was 10, my parents got a divorced, and I went and lived with my dad. But three years later my dad died in a tragic car accident, so I was forced to live with my mother, who i despised with a passion. Back to why I was trying on dresses, my moms best friend, Carol, was getting married, and my mom was dragging me to the wedding. I wanted to go in my normal t-shirt, skinnys and my black converse, but my mom said I had to dress "semi-formally" whatever the hell that meant.

"Brittany get out here now!" ugh! my mom is so annoying!

"Shut up mom! I'll be out when I find a dress I like!"

I picked up this tan dress, it looked absolutely horrible! I had black hair, blue eyes and fair skin, so tan was definitely NOT my color. As I picked up the next dress I counted how many were left in the pile. There were about 3 other dresses left. The one I had picked up was pink. Not the baby pink, it was hot, neon-colored, freaking pink! whatever possessed my mother to pick this out, was beyond me. I looked at the last 3 dresses and sighed, I picked up the one that was least likely to make me hurl. I put it on. This dress was a perfect fit, it was a nice glacial blue, to bring out my eyes, it was strapless and it was tight up around the bust but as it went down it started to flair out and it ended just above my knee. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and I was shocked, this dress highlighted my every curve, I have the body the most cheerleaders would kill to have. The most shocking part was, I actually sorta liked it.