Once I saw this dress in the window. I fell for it instantly. It was so me. Just the right size. I tried it on. I gasped, because, it was like it was made for me. It made me look so fetching, put a glow on my cheeks. And when I walked, the perfect skirt bounced in a strange and magical way. Then I saw the price tag. Exorbitant. I would never in my lifetime be able to afford it. Not even if I saved for twenty years. And it hurt, because it was mine to begin with, but because I’m not a rich girl, it will soon belong to someone else. I put it back on its rack, alongside the cheaper, more lacklustre numbers.
Should I feel happy that I had the fortitude to encounter the dress of my dreams? Or should I feel really upset, because something I wanted so bad has made a fool of me with its price, as if saying I’m not good enough, that I am only an ordinary girl, and pouring contempt on me with its beauty?
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