The clothes shop

It was a cloudy day, one perfect for shopping. I was nervous about it. I knew I needed a decent dress, but I could easily buy online, why did I have to go to the store? Because I needed to see if I was still the same size. I hadn’t changed for years, not since I was 18. But I need to check. I thought to myself.
Devine your a basket case. There I go again, putting myself down. Why? I need to stop it. I am a young, confident, women, who can do this I am strong.
Ok.
Now just need to actually step into the Mall.
I walked out of the bus station and put my iPod on. I got it to play my “confidence”, playlist. I took confident strides in my custom made ballet slippers and denim skirt, my tight red jacket hugging me and my chest in. I am woman, hear me roar.
I walked into the mall and almost came to a complete stop.
Malls terrify me. Markets, they are fine. City walk, it’s a breeze. But step into the Canberra Centre and enter the Second worst Mall in Canberra. The first being Belco Wesfeild, I call it the Darth Mall since they changed the deco to look like a inside or a gay mans Death Star.
I alway notice the deco first. People I can handle. But bad decoration? I hate it. The Darth Mall makes me feel trapped, Canberra Centre makes me feel like I am in a bad disco for poorly coordinated clowns at a xmass party. Everything in mall is marble, carpet, concrete, glass and whitish paint. Exception Belco were it’s black or grey. Canberra Centre added to the horror with hanging things off walls and from the ceiling. Great advertising boards full of exceptionally pretty people or large post modern art deco things that look like they defy style more than they should defy gravity. Worst is that they hung lights and things in the sculptures, leaving macabre horrors in shadows on the walls. Right, hotel ces la potty, it’s time to march.
I walk up the escalator, spending little time looking at everyone else. I so don’t want to meet my friends or enemies here today. This is Canberra. Four Mall city ( if you don’t count DFO) which I don’t since you need a car. I am never driving one of those things, but that’s a story for another day.
Need to keep focus or I will be at the store and Chicken Run and have to start again next weekend, which will be worse as I will have to go with my mother. She’s a lovely women, but her sense of style is worse then a mall designer. Says the girl in the denim dress. Ok, ok, so it’s not that bad, I just don’t want her fussing over me like a school of cleaner fish. She always has to cop a feel if my boobs too. It’s like she still think I got them done without her knowing. I was a very late bloomer. Didn’t even have a period till I was 17. My boobs came in when I was 18 like mountains that suddenly knew were there place was. It was almost like waking up with a pair of new … We’ll boobs, really.
Because of that I have never really been comfortable about being in this body. It seems like somehow it took over and my mind was all that was left. The whole school used to tease me about being a boy. I even acted like it sometimes. Played the rough games, drank the boy drinks, even managed to make captain of the mixed lacrosse team in my high school. I was thinking about playing in Uni as well soon as class starts in the new year.
I was in the final month of my gap year out of school and now I had to buy a dress. Thats a shock. I used to wear dresses all the time as a young girl. Till I started getting teased about really being a boy. Then I stopped. I went on to develop my style. That’s this. Denim skirt or pants, purse or wallet. Then red leather jacket, green or pastel shirt for winter, white or pale grey for summer with a light grey or pastel skirt. I never could keep on pretending I wasn’t a girl when my boobs came, which is why I kept with the skirts. Despite the teasing I knew I was a girl and the goddess would reward me someday with a wonderful bust. My girls grew pretty quickly and I was always thankful for them.
I was at the store.
My iPod still playing I quickly turned it off. I put it away in my purse and slowly walked into the store. Designer shoes intoe.
I didn’t think this was the right time for this, but when my best friend said he was getting married I had to get a decent dress. It means so much to him that I be there when he gets tied to his love. They are made for each other.
A plumber and a wine merchant, it was a match made in heaven. The one supplied the need for the other. They had met a my very hastily organized 19th birthday in January, and now both of them were madly in love. It was sweet, happy, and they had plenty of cash. It was also A Greek wedding. Heh. The mothers were loving every minute of their kids getting together. They even had iconic names, Adam and Steve. The puns could keep the bank full forever. Gay to be wed friends aside I was I the store and thankfully my thoughts had kept me distracted enough to look at this dress. It was my size. It was new. It was a healthy shade of pastel blue. It was what I needed. Now to get it. That’s the hard part. I hoped I didn’t start crying.

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