She wore me on her first date with Henry, and spent the whole time worrying if she was showing too much leg. She kept tugging at my hem, tugging and tugging until she actually ripped the seam away. She never fixed it, either. She hasn't fit into me for years, but she kept me all this time. She was sentimental like that. It's a shame, really. The broad straps and square neckline looked damn good on her.
She wore me the night Henry proposed. She was more confident by then, she had a higher hemline and a lower neckline and she didn't rip me. They went to that restaurant on the river, they wanted to sit out on the deck but it was full. She made some joke about it being too cold to sit outside anyway, even though it was the middle of August. She was covered in sweat, and so was I, but she didn't care. She didn't even care about how small the ring was. Sometimes she was too sentimental.
She wore me for the engagement party that Henry's mother threw them. They refused to let her pay for the wedding, they wanted to do it themselves, regardless of the fact that they were young and didn't have two pennies to rub together. So Camilla insisted on throwing them a big, fancy engagement party. I remember they ate shrimp, even though she was allergic. She sat in the corner, trying to smile at people while fighting back the tears, convinced that her future mother-in-law was actually trying to kill her. Of course, Camilla claimed it was a mistake and that there was plenty of salad that she could eat. After that, she went and cried in the bathroom.
Yes, she, uh...she wore me at the hen party. I'm afraid I'm sworn to secrecy. She never did take me out of the dry-cleaning bag again afterwards.
She wore me on their first anniversary, when Henry took her to dinner. It was their last chance to go out, just the two of them, before the baby came. It was a horrible night. She was tired and bloated and uncomfortable. I was too tight over the bump, I was stretched too tight and made her itch. Her swollen feet were stuffed into strappy sandals, but she didn't feel like she could kick them off in such a nice restaurant. They fought in the car on the way home. Henry said she didn't appreciate the nice things he did for her, asked why she always had to be so difficult. Said he should have taken her to McDonald's, since that was closer to what they could afford.
She wore me on their 30th anniversary, and she'd never looked better. I remember she looked through her closet before picking me, she wasn't the young, thin woman she'd once been, she needed something classier. A demure, wrap dress with elbow-length sleeves. She packed me in her suitcase, not knowing that Henry was whisking her away for a romantic weekend in Paris. They ate snails and mouldy cheese, then walked along the streets arm in arm, giggling like teenagers. Like the young lovers they were once. He told her he was more in love with her than ever.
She wore me again a few months later. I knew it would tarnish her memories of that weekend, but she couldn't face buying something new. Henry had been taken from her so suddenly, no illness leading up to it, but she had to be strong for the children. It didn't matter what she wore. Nothing mattered anymore.
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