Maybe She's Just Looking for Someone to Dance With

Last week I wondered through women's clothing in Macy's. I meandered into the section that contained the dressy dresses. Elegant party dresses, Mother of the Bride/Groom dresses, and so on. I found one to die for. Not that I was really looking. But this dress...oh my, this dress, it was just lovely.

I pictured myself dancing the night away to an orchestra with my love. Slow dancing to Moon River. An elegant evening reminiscent of a 1960's romantic film. My love in a crisp suit and me in THE dress. Afterward we'd climb into his 1962 baby blue Cadillac convertible and drive through the damp, winding streets. The stars are shining. I Only Have Eyes for You plays on the radio.

It's just perfect.

And then it ends.

I put the dress back on the rack. Run my fingers down the front. The fabric feels cool against my skin. I am no longer in my 1960's-esque fantasy world. I'm back in Macy's under glaring fluorescent lights.

Last night I took out the kitchen and bathroom trash and some recyclables. Dressed in yoga pants and a t-shirt, my hair looked like a frightening cross between Witch Hazel's and my Aunt Gloria's.

As I tossed the garbage into the dumpster, two couples came out of the building across from me. Dressed to the nines, the ladies wore knee-length party dresses and their escorts donned crisp suits. They giggled as they descended the stairs and disappeared further into the parking lot.

I walked home, shut the door behind me and sat on the couch.

I thought about that dress and the fact I have no where to wear it. I can do without that.

I thought about my silly 1960's daydreams of an elegant, old-school evening on the town. I can leave that behind too.

But mainly I thought of him. And I wished he'd just show up.

And maybe even take me dancing.