Page 39 of Overtime
“Shush, Madeline. Your mother knows what she’s doing. You don’t want to get down to your skivvies and try to put on a dress that doesn’t make it past your thighs, do you?”
I grunt. I certainly don’t.
In the dressing room, I take my sweet time removing each layer of clothes. I immediately miss the warmth of my wool dress with little cats on the bottom fringe. But I leave my thick leggings on. There is no force on this round earth that will make me remove them today.
“Ready, miss?” the attendant asks from outside the curtain.
“As I can be.”
She slides in a truly hideous fuchsia number, and I say, “Please tell me there are other options.”
“Oh, you don’t like this one?”
It looks like Barbie’s curtains, but I don’t say this aloud.
“Um, maybe I should see the whole range and pick?”
The whole range turns out to be only three other dresses. All of them are varying shades of pink, though they’re at least less offensive than the first one. I lift one in nearly the same powder pink hue as the sofa. Actually, the fabric feels similar too.
I snort a laugh. It figures that they’d dress me to match the furniture. Very on the nose. But praise! I can pull it over my head. I don’t have to bend down!
It’s a bit too large, which I guess they’ll have to fix, but it makes trying it on easier. The bust area hugs my boobs perfectly, even without zipping it, though. Almost as if it was tailor made. In fact, the way it holds them makes them look ah-mazing and defines my waist more clearly.
“Hmm, not bad, sofa-dress,” I mumble.
“Do you need help?”
“Yes, please,” I respond to the attendant. “Can you zip me up?”
“Of course.” She squeezes in as if there are people other than my family outside. “Oh, it looks very nice, miss.”
Not an effusive compliment, but I’ll take it.
“I actually like it.”
Then she zips it up, and like I thought, it needs to be taken in about half an inch on each side. But the color works well with my pasty skin and almost makes it look healthy. My hair is more brown than red, so it doesn’t clash either.
Still walking like a duck, I make it outside and wait for the verdict.
Meg gasps. “Maddie! You look unbelievable. Guys won’t take their eyes off you.”
I wrinkle my nose. What guys? Our old uncles?
“Or guy? Have you found a plus-one already?” My sister wiggles her eyebrows.
“Puh-lease. You and I both know my dancing partner will be Kevin.” I’m referring to the ten-year-old son of Meg’s best friend from work.
“I don’t know.” Mom’s frowning. “The fat under your arms is too visible.”
“We have some delicate boleros that would pair with this dress very well.”
“Actually, that sounds like a great idea,” I tell the employee. “I’m getting cold.”
“Shall I fetch a few samples?”
“Yes—”
“Isn’t there another dress that covers your arms?”
