The Perfect Dress

I wasn't in the store shopping for myself that spring day in May. My daughter Kathy had just graduated from high school. Her preferred attire of faded jeans and a T-shirt wasn't going to cut it for job interviews, so we went to look for something more appropriate.

Kathy headed to the suit department; I started with the dresses, flipping through the racks deftly, moving each dress with a flick of my wrist: Not Kathy's style. Too matronly. Not her color. Clack, clack, clack went the rejects until I touched a white cotton dress, cool and feminine. I paused to admire it. Elegant Battenberg lace framed the bodice, and the pert pinafore sleeves opened like summer flowers. Not at all for Kathy, but...

"That one's for you," someone behind me said.

The woman's perfume, a blissful scent of lilacs, permeated the air. I lifted the dress carefully from the rack and turned to her.

"Aren't you going to try it on?" she asked. "It would be lovely for a second wedding." Startled by her presumption, I hung the dress back in its place and smiled wistfully.

The woman readjusted her big handbag and snatched the dress off the rack. "Perfect for an outdoor ceremony!" she exclaimed.

"You know, I always wanted a garden wedding," I admitted.

The woman interrupted: "Hang this dress in the back of your closet. You will have what you've always wanted." She spoke with sweet authority and I began to feel close to her. I didn't understand why. I didn't even know her name. But this woman seemed to know me.

"I guess it can't hurt to try it on," I said.

Alone inside the fitting room, I fumbled with the hook and eye and got my arms entangled as I slipped the dress over my head. I was acting like a nervous bride! I smoothed the full skirt and reached behind my back. The zipper glided up like magic. When I looked in the mirror, I was mesmerized. The dress said romance. It fit me to a T, flattering my figure.