by Marissa Bosenko

Created on: December 09, 2009   Last Updated: December 12, 2009

 Dress-up

Her mother had spent days slogging through the racks and revolving stands that all the best stores had to offer to find this dress. Her mother adored this dress, the way the silky fabric brushed the floor making whooshing noises as it swept her away, adored the straps slung across her pointed shoulders – far too dainty to be of any real support, adored the beads that sparkled like specks of snow glittering in the sunlight. She had trampled through those stores ooing and awing at them all, but this was the dress she chose, the only one that really measured up to her vision.

Looking in the mirror, she could see why her mother had chosen this dress: the muffling ruffles, the polished perfection, every stitch was impossibly precise, every drape elegantly designed, all these things were meticulously checked and accounted for before the final purchase. Her breath caught, her blood rushed, her skin prickled, while looking in that mirror the most dazzling girl emerge: a million watt smile framed by deep pomegranate lips, every spiral in its place, not one crinkle in that peach-toned skin, not one wrinkle in the gorgeous gown so carefully chosen and so obviously adored.

The scent of vanilla, mixed with the bitter stench of bodies, trickled up the stairs and wafted into her room, swirling around the stunning pair. This was it. One last look, one last tweak, then the odd perfume's curtain parted as the girl began her  long walk - her heart throbbing, her palms sticking. The house was transformed, the rooms now glittering and enchanting. Flowers littered the tables, pictures filled expensive frames, shiny platters revealed tiny hor-derves. In front of the rows filled with smiling and clapping guests her mother and father stood beaming. This party was exhaustively planned and the perfect dress for it was mercilessly hunted so for this one day she could smile that million watt smile, smooth her airy dress, flick her glossy curls, and be the girl for whom doors were held ajar, chairs pulled out, and handsome smiles meant for. Her makeup wouldn't smudge or smear, she wouldn't slouch or frown. She would stand up straight and giggle girlishly, model this immaculate frock and give life to the girl in the mirror.

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