Bought It. Dyed It. Shortened It. Wore It. Hate It.

Gah. What a LOT of trouble I went to for this dress. It's from the Gap, size small--according to the tags. I got it from the thrift. It was a cream-ish color, and I over-dyed it with a deep golden yellow. I cut about 3 inches off the bottom, replaced the ugly brownish buttons. Thought I was going to love it because it has great pockets. And is orange-y!

Yeah, it looks huge, but like I said: it's a small. I can barely get the top over my shoulders.

I put it on yesterday and felt icky in it, like I was wearing a costume of some sort, like it felt when I dressed to sub (long, loose dresses with big pockets, sleeves long enough to cover the tattoos (I had only the top ones on my arms then). Dressed to Blend, pretty much. I never did, of course, but I made the effort. And it wasn't worth the effort. And for some reason, this dress just feels dowdy. Frumpy. I remind myself, as I tweeted yesterday while wearing it, of a Mennonite. Now, before you start whinging at me: I've known some Mennonites--they put on our roof and were here for days and days--and they were nice people and looked normal. But goodlordalmighty, the women I see in the store, what is UP with those clothes? It's like someone who hated them picked out their clothes. I understand about modesty and all, but, honeys, please: you can cover up everything without resorting to dresses with a wasitline right up under your xyphoid process, with fabric that doesn't make you want to cry from its ugliness (I mean, seriously, even a nice brown (and I'm not a fan of Brown Garments, so you know I'm serious here) would be better than these fabrics). They're like what's left after The Dreaded Wal-Mart puts the reject fabric out on the clearance table for $1 a yard. This is the stuff that nobody will buy at that price.

Those horrible white sandals with white ankle socks.

And what pisses me off? You knew there was something, right? What pisses me off is that the men look fairly normal. Jeans, plaid shirts, normal shoes. Nobody makes them belt anything up under their armpits, let me tell you.

So anyway: that's what I felt like. Dumpy and dowdy like a woman forced to dress badly by someone in authority. Only I don't have that excuse. I just have this dress that is not making my heart sing.

I don't know if you know what it's like. Maybe you don't care about what you wear. Maybe you hate clothes. Whatever. When I put on clothes, I expect them to make me happy. I want them to feel like we belong together, and like we'll go out into the world and will not fight with one another. No pinching. No poking. No calling of names! When they can't make even that much effort to get along, forget it.

This dress was well-behaved and did none of those things, but I felt, as I said, as if I were dressed in a costume. And not one designed for having a great deal of fun. I hate to donate it back to Goodwill after all the trouble I went to to "fix" it, but I'm not going to fall in love with it, and my motto about clothes is: If I don't love it, I don't keep it. Lord knows there are enough clothes in this house (and the storage building) that I do not *need* this dress.

Yes, you did hear me just heave a huge, huge sigh.