Good morning everyone. As today is my birthday, I will be posting and then taking myself off for a fun and relaxing day. No big plans, just not going to work on my birthday. It is my annual present to myself. But the coffee is brewing so before I take off for parts unknown for the day, lets jump into the morning prompt.
I think I may play with the idea of someone finally realizing that bullies aren’t going to change and that she needs to make a break for herself. I think I would go back further and add in some sticky connections as well. It is more a glimmer of an idea than any actual story line. But it could be interesting to play with.
Thursday, June 27th: The shirt was ruined.
The shirt was ruined. I stared in the large bathroom mirror and surveyed the damage. The wine stain was prominent. There was always the possibility that one of the homemade remedies I learned from my grandmother might help, but I doubted it. I suspected that even the drycleaners would be hard pressed to get every trace of the Burgundy out of the white silk.
‘Even if they could, there are still the tears.’ I looked at the slash parks in the sleeve. A couple I thought I might get away with stitching up, using the tiniest most delicate stitches I could manage. The others would show no matter how careful I was.
‘It is only a shirt,’ I reminded myself, even though I wanted to cry. ‘Material things don’t matter.’
I knew that I would live without this shirt, except that I saved up to buy it, specially ordered it and this was the first time I had been able to wear it. I didn’t often buy new clothes. I tended to wear what I had until it couldn’t be worn any more and then I often shopped at second hand stores. It wasn’t that I couldn’t afford to purchase new if I wanted. A shirt this expensive would be a stretch, but I could manage. I simply didn’t are for disposable fashion. For this shirt I made an exception.
To afford it, as well as to make myself feel better about buying new instead of repurposing existing garments, I gave up eating out for a full month. I knew at the end of the month I would have to go to a large dinner at a high-end restaurant so I thought it would work well. I would skip eating out, buy the shirt and wear it to the first dining out I had done in a while.
It seemed like a good plan. Not that I told anyone.
Yet somehow, the shirt seemed to signal to my step sisters that it was time to behave badly. Christy got me with the wine and Daphne practically shredded the sleeve. I dropped the paper towels in the trash can. I knew that in the morning there would be an envelope delivered to my apartment. It would contain a check for twice the amount I paid for the shirt. I knew it would be signed by my father and that there would be no note. There would never be an apology and the shirt would never be mentioned again.
‘It is the way things are done,’ I thought to myself.
It is what happened the six months before when Christy snapped the chain of my necklace. And the year prior when Daphne burned a hole in my trousers with her cigarette. There was a litany of items destroyed and reimbursement checks issued. Somehow I thought tonight was going to be different.
‘Stupid,’ I thought. ‘They will never change.’
Ten til Midnight 