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The Dress at the Thrift Store

It was the most beautiful dress she had ever seen. The perfect cut, the perfect material, the perfect shade. When she tried it on, it fit like it had been sewn just for her. She couldn’t believe it was only four dollars.

“It smells funny,” her friend said.

“A trip to the dry cleaners, and it will be good as new,” she replied, as she handed her money to the cashier.

It became her favorite dress. She wore it every chance she got. It made her feel confident, powerful, beautiful. She began to have terrible dreams, but wearing the dress made her forget those, too. In fact, the more she wore the dress, the more she forgot everything except how good the dress made her feel.

“Did you lose the rest of your clothes in a fire?” her friend asked sarcastically, at brunch.

“I love this dress,” she replied simply.

“It’s too big for you.” Her friend eyed her critically. “Have you been eating all right?”

“Yes. I’m fine.” She smiled.

After brunch, she went home and stood in front of the mirror, frowning. The dress didn’t look right. She tugged and pulled, turning this way and that. Finally, defeated, she took off the dress. She folded it carefully and placed it on her bed.

It was a short walk to the bridge. The river was a rippled gray ribbon, way down below. She put out her arms, and the wind whipped her cotton t-shirt around her body, and for just a minute, she flew.

None of her friends wanted her favorite dress, so it was packed in a box along with her other things and donated to a thrift store. So beautiful, so perfect. A bargain on the rack.

Someone will claim it. They always do.

submitted by /u/bottlerocket23
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