Kristin and I were shopping for homecoming dresses. We were in a vintage store in the fitting room. We had piles of dresses in each stall. I tried on a dress that was from the 80's; it was green with black lacey frill at the bottom; the body of the dress had an intricate checker print. I loved the dress, but I couldn't get the zipper up.
"Do we really want to go to the dance anyway?" I asked Kristin.
"Where else will we wear these dresses? And besides we will look the best," was her answer.
She was wearing a long pink dress that looked like it was from the Victorian Era. She looked beautiful, her hair was piled on top of her head.
"Yeah, you're right," I said.
I yanked the zipper hard and it ripped the dress.
"Shit." Kristin didn't seem to notice, but then she told me to find a better dress, to hang that one back up. I walked out of the stall in my stockings and underwear, and ran my fingers over the dresses that were hanging on the return rack. I sighed a long sigh.
I awoke.
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