Are you too a woman? If so, do you love clothes like I do?
All
my life I loved dresses. And shoes! I remember being a little girl
wearing the dresses of my mother and grandmother.
My first memory goes back to the age of 5. I stood on a chair, one finger at the tip of my nose, asking myself which dress I wanted to ware. My other hand touched all the beautiful clothes in the wardrobe, pushing them aside one by one and by the last dress I started all over again.
My first memory goes back to the age of 5. I stood on a chair, one finger at the tip of my nose, asking myself which dress I wanted to ware. My other hand touched all the beautiful clothes in the wardrobe, pushing them aside one by one and by the last dress I started all over again.
Not
only because I could not choose but also because I loved the smell,
touching the materials and the sound of the metal of the cloth
hangers.
The wooden hangers itself were covered in the most beautiful fabrics with prints of roses and filled with lavender that mingled with the smell of the dresses with my mother's perfume.
I stood bare feet on the chair, once I was wearing my mother's shoes which were way to big and Mummy said that was far to dangerous! I did not understand but was still at the age mother's knew best.
Being a little older, Mummy gave me old clothes that I stored in a large wooden box but I have to admit that it wasn't as interesting as have them hanging in the wardrobe. But I loved to sit on my knees and wading through the dresses with my hands. And when I wanted to dress up I could never choose which dress. I loved them all. Thinking of the occasion to wear them was helpful. One day I imagined being at a very posh party, lipstick smeared around my mouth.
An other day I was the hostess at my tea party and neatly dressed, serving my guests (indeed, my many dolls) tea and cakes. I held the tea cup with my pink up in the air but Mummy said that was not posh. And that is how a little girl learns to become an adult.
Isn't everything in life about choices? First your parents make choices for you but sooner or later choices become your own responsibility. And cloths have always been a red thread in my life. They helped me to make choices. It may sound strange to you but they transformed me into another person next to myself. I could play roles; being someone I was not deep down my heart. Deep down my heart I was very insecure but you might have guessed that because I take so much time to choose.
It will not come as a surprise to you that I had the same problem choosing the right husband. Don't laugh.... Yes indeed I had to choose! Mummy and everybody else told me I was a very charming, elegant and exceptional good looking girl, very beautiful.
The wooden hangers itself were covered in the most beautiful fabrics with prints of roses and filled with lavender that mingled with the smell of the dresses with my mother's perfume.
I stood bare feet on the chair, once I was wearing my mother's shoes which were way to big and Mummy said that was far to dangerous! I did not understand but was still at the age mother's knew best.
Being a little older, Mummy gave me old clothes that I stored in a large wooden box but I have to admit that it wasn't as interesting as have them hanging in the wardrobe. But I loved to sit on my knees and wading through the dresses with my hands. And when I wanted to dress up I could never choose which dress. I loved them all. Thinking of the occasion to wear them was helpful. One day I imagined being at a very posh party, lipstick smeared around my mouth.
An other day I was the hostess at my tea party and neatly dressed, serving my guests (indeed, my many dolls) tea and cakes. I held the tea cup with my pink up in the air but Mummy said that was not posh. And that is how a little girl learns to become an adult.
Isn't everything in life about choices? First your parents make choices for you but sooner or later choices become your own responsibility. And cloths have always been a red thread in my life. They helped me to make choices. It may sound strange to you but they transformed me into another person next to myself. I could play roles; being someone I was not deep down my heart. Deep down my heart I was very insecure but you might have guessed that because I take so much time to choose.
It will not come as a surprise to you that I had the same problem choosing the right husband. Don't laugh.... Yes indeed I had to choose! Mummy and everybody else told me I was a very charming, elegant and exceptional good looking girl, very beautiful.
Of course
I was only beautiful in the right dress (so I thought). I must always
have been wearing the right dresses because the house was very often
visited by handsome (and less handsome) men who paid my parents a
visit introduced by someone in the large circle of friends of my
parents, but who also put a lot of effort in to staring at me.
Occasionally I was allowed to go to a party but always with a chaperone. You will agree that it is very difficult to get to know someone if there is always a chaperone walking two steps behind you!
At the age of 21, Mummy and Daddy told me I was going to be an old spinster if I kept seeing all these men without giving a minor hint which one I liked most. Oh, I often wished all these man hanging in wardrobes so I could touch them one by one, pushing them aside for the next one. And if no one was looking I would probably smell them as well!! I am very certain they all have there own scent!
I hardly slept thinking of all these young men approved by my parents because they choose first.
After many sleepless nights I imagined putting some men in a wooden box with the lid firmly closed, my way of shifting the handsome from the less handsome. I did the same with the rich and the less rich and lo and behold, I had only 3 men left. I then shifted by age. I did not choose the youngest nor the oldest (although Mummy and Daddy said the oldest was the best choice). No I choose the one in the middle; only 5 years older and from a very good family.
Occasionally I was allowed to go to a party but always with a chaperone. You will agree that it is very difficult to get to know someone if there is always a chaperone walking two steps behind you!
At the age of 21, Mummy and Daddy told me I was going to be an old spinster if I kept seeing all these men without giving a minor hint which one I liked most. Oh, I often wished all these man hanging in wardrobes so I could touch them one by one, pushing them aside for the next one. And if no one was looking I would probably smell them as well!! I am very certain they all have there own scent!
I hardly slept thinking of all these young men approved by my parents because they choose first.
After many sleepless nights I imagined putting some men in a wooden box with the lid firmly closed, my way of shifting the handsome from the less handsome. I did the same with the rich and the less rich and lo and behold, I had only 3 men left. I then shifted by age. I did not choose the youngest nor the oldest (although Mummy and Daddy said the oldest was the best choice). No I choose the one in the middle; only 5 years older and from a very good family.
If
I ever knew this turned out to be the most terrible choice I made in
my life.....
We married at my 22nd birthday, it was a glorious day; the sun shone, the lavender was in full bloom like the roses. The church was filled with wonderful bouquets of the finest flowers, leaves and ribbons.
The guests were dressed in their best clothes; the men with top hats and the women large decorated hats matching their dresses in the same colour as their shoes.
We married at my 22nd birthday, it was a glorious day; the sun shone, the lavender was in full bloom like the roses. The church was filled with wonderful bouquets of the finest flowers, leaves and ribbons.
The guests were dressed in their best clothes; the men with top hats and the women large decorated hats matching their dresses in the same colour as their shoes.
Everybody
was happy and cheerful. Accept I...... After the “you may kiss the
bride” moment, I turned my head and looked in the dark brown eyes
of a very handsome man with a beautiful moustache and oh, did I love
moustaches!! He was tall, well dressed and even more well mannered.
And he looked at me, hypnotised me with his eyes until I felt like a
rabbit in the headlights of Daddy's limousine.
I knew there and than, that I made the wrong choice. Don't you agree that if I had not married what was now my husband, I would never had met the man with the dark brown eyes? So in that respect I made the wrong choice for a husband.
I could not forget the man and my marriage was over before it started. My poor husband promised 'to have and to hold from this day forward; etcetera, etcetera'. And I would not let him. I said the same thing to him but it was easier not to remember that.
My husband changed into a very disappointed man who slept in his own bedroom, seldom being home. My parents were worried about us not having children but how could I explain what was wrong: “Mummy and Daddy I am sorry but I made the wrong choice”? They loved me to bits but were certainly not going to say: “Oh poor girl! Will you come home again or do you want to marry another man?”!!
One day my husband did not come home at all and was found drunk in the bed of a woman of a certain profession. And because of that, everybody agreed to a divorce although it was 'not done' in those years. I am talking about 100 years ago.
Did you think I am that old? I can see you counting and thinking: “Oh no, you are not 127 years of age!” and of course I am not. I passed away at the age of 90.
And why am I still here to tell you this story? Think.... you might know though!
Indeed, I did not know what to choose, to stay here or to go to the other side.
And do you know what made me choose for staying? A long time ago I was told that there are no beautiful cloths and shoes at the other side and after being put on a long white nightgown made of the fine lace of my voile of the wedding dress (I never choose to give to to some one else) the day of my death, I fully believed it.
And I could not leave all my cloths behind, could I? I still wanted to touch them and run my hands from one to another, listening to the sound of the metal of the cloth-hangers.
Do you understand how disappointed I was that I indeed still can run my hands through the dresses but nothing is happening? My hands are like the rest of my body, transparent and go right through everything I touch without moving it. And I can not hold my finger to the tip of my nose!
One advantage is that I can walk through doors and walls as long as it is within the four walls of the house. But I can not wear all my cloths! I can not even take them from the wardrobe, how hard I try, it does not work.
I knew there and than, that I made the wrong choice. Don't you agree that if I had not married what was now my husband, I would never had met the man with the dark brown eyes? So in that respect I made the wrong choice for a husband.
I could not forget the man and my marriage was over before it started. My poor husband promised 'to have and to hold from this day forward; etcetera, etcetera'. And I would not let him. I said the same thing to him but it was easier not to remember that.
My husband changed into a very disappointed man who slept in his own bedroom, seldom being home. My parents were worried about us not having children but how could I explain what was wrong: “Mummy and Daddy I am sorry but I made the wrong choice”? They loved me to bits but were certainly not going to say: “Oh poor girl! Will you come home again or do you want to marry another man?”!!
One day my husband did not come home at all and was found drunk in the bed of a woman of a certain profession. And because of that, everybody agreed to a divorce although it was 'not done' in those years. I am talking about 100 years ago.
Did you think I am that old? I can see you counting and thinking: “Oh no, you are not 127 years of age!” and of course I am not. I passed away at the age of 90.
And why am I still here to tell you this story? Think.... you might know though!
Indeed, I did not know what to choose, to stay here or to go to the other side.
And do you know what made me choose for staying? A long time ago I was told that there are no beautiful cloths and shoes at the other side and after being put on a long white nightgown made of the fine lace of my voile of the wedding dress (I never choose to give to to some one else) the day of my death, I fully believed it.
And I could not leave all my cloths behind, could I? I still wanted to touch them and run my hands from one to another, listening to the sound of the metal of the cloth-hangers.
Do you understand how disappointed I was that I indeed still can run my hands through the dresses but nothing is happening? My hands are like the rest of my body, transparent and go right through everything I touch without moving it. And I can not hold my finger to the tip of my nose!
One advantage is that I can walk through doors and walls as long as it is within the four walls of the house. But I can not wear all my cloths! I can not even take them from the wardrobe, how hard I try, it does not work.
 |
| Photo: @dennislexmond_photography (Instagram) |
I know you are here, wondering about all the dresses and why nothing has changed over the years. How could it with no next of kin. Even the man with the dark eyes and the beautiful moustache was never mine because again I could not choose.
Do you agree that I think I made again the wrong choice by staying??? Or.........
Word of thanks: the photo of @dennislexmond_photography (Instagram) inspired me to write this story and I was given permission to use the photo as an illustration for which I am very thankful. Thank you Dennis!
Link: please visit the beautiful Instagram account of Dennis Lexmond Photography.
Note: the story is pure fiction! A figment of my imagination.
Helen
I know this website offers quality based articles and other
ReplyDeletematerial, is there any other web site which gives these
information in quality?
Thank you for you appreciated comments. Do you mean more articles about Skype? Or about writing?
Delete