Wholesale Fashion
I used to creep into my parents’ dresser throughout the weekday when they were missing, at their jobs or running errands or buying groceries or attending friends. I wormed my narrow body through the left open door, stretching my tinyl hands over the pale heaps of shoes, the slippery cords of ties, the pilled cloth of my daddy’s working clothes and the satiny tight cloth of my mother’s clothes, wholesale fashion tossed together in this senseless stack.
I would stretch up and yank my dad’s t-shirts off their hangers with my narrow scared hands, yank the shirts down my head, floating huge and clear all the way down to my scarred knees, decorated in purposeless pockets and awkward logos. I pretended to be a adult, to be a beautiful queen in a jewel-encrusted dress, to be a lion with a fuscia nose. My mommy had a dress, smooth and soft under my fingers it would glide off the hanger so that I could slide it over my body, a fantastic swathe of silk dragging around me like a train.
I daydreamed so determinedly, those hours. My own clothing was store-bought, matching rayon and plaid, kids’ clothing, not like the brilliant dressy different clothes my parents owned. I borrowed their wholesale fashion for my own, swathing myself in their rags like cast-off skins, pretending with a child’s passion. I was a penguin, a villain, a dancer; I was a professional, a physical laborer, a owner. My brain made no difference, all were similarly foreign.
It was just pretending, however. At the end of the day I had to hang the clothes back away, pressing away creases with my shaking hands, and go back to being a girl, dressed in nothing but wholesale fashion.
Possibly Related Posts:
- Jeans and Sneakers: Fashion Don’ts in Paris?
- Cutting Through The Hype – How to Become a Fashion Model
- Silk Wrap Skirts – Ever Green Universal Fashion
- Best Bags with Affordable Price
- Buy Replica Bags
