My quest for a dress
Was a source of distress
The sense of sartorial propriety
A serious consideration for me,
Not least because such occasion warrants
At *least* a little extravagance.
A wedding, indeed,
The best of days
To see two young people on their way:
Friends and family looking on,
Wondering where the years have gone.
It isn’t like I wouldn’t wear one
-That’s more been about pure lack of occasion.
There’s little to be gained but embarrassed regret
Stepping out overdressed in the supermarket…
So I shopped. And I shopped. And I shopped and I shopped
But worn out with failure, I just has to stop,
Resorting in pure desperation
To a favourite charitable location
Where I found a dress to actually fit¹
With just a hint of style to it
So, my thanks to the man in the Heart Foundation²
(A charity outlet in my location)
For graciously agreeing to keep back the garment
And so bring closure to my torment
As I rushed with relief to the bank machine
In order that I mind withdraw the means,
Saving a not-inconsiderable sum
-And now fully prepared for occasions to come!
* Shhhh! Some things are best kept secret…
¹‘Petite’, allegedly- and what my mother (a former seamstress who trained me well as a needlewoman from a young age) describes as ‘short-waisted’…
² The British Heart Foundation Shop, George St, BN3 – a street affectionately known locally as Charity Central by virtue of the ubiquity of charity shops and very little else.