Little blue dress

Slither and slide; the silky fabric between my fingertips whispers seductive songs, and I acquiesce, carrying the sapphire gown, shiny plastic hanger and all, to the stifling cubicle sickly lit with flickering fluorescents.

Shuffle and ruffle; I reach back for the rumbling zipper to secure this royal array to my ridiculous ribcage, too broad for my preference.

Shimmy and shake; the plentiful tulle, tantamount to hoop skirts of old, transform my portly thighs into terrifically tantalizing twigs, an entreaty for stilettos.

Shudder and sigh; it is a lie of sly, dimly lit, long-mirrored ladies’ rooms land-wide to let little-loved lasses look lovely only in the lack-luster light. Let me be, I declare, leaving the little blue dress lying listlessly on the tiles.