I had been looking for ages. In all my favourite places. For the Perfect Dress. But everything I found was too long or too short or flimsy or too, I don't know. Something.
This morning I remembered a little place that I'd [almost] forgotten about. And so I ventured out, to be greeted by the most beautiful collection of vintage dresses you ever did see. I was finding myself a little overwhelmed by choice when she asked if she could help. In a lovely, gentle way.
And so I gushed. About the event I was dressing for, about the image I had in my head of how I wanted to look and about how everything I had tried on so far had just been not quite right. As I spilt all my hardly.that.important.dress.anxieties, she just nodded and nodded some more. And when I finally came up for air she turned to that rack of incredible, vintage deliciousness and picked out a single dress. How about you start with this one [she suggested].
And so I did. And it was perfect. Exactly what I had been looking for.
She smiled and said it looked beautiful. And then looked just the tiniest bit alarmed when I told her she was a magician and [almost!] lurched towards her for an I.couldn't.be.more.grateful.hug.
Naturally, I went home and baked a carrot cake with cream cheese icing, in celebration of such a fabulous find. And as I grated and beat and mixed and poured and licked the bowl I kept thinking about her amazing talent.
It reminds me of what my beautiful dad always used to tell me when I was growing up. And what he continued to tell me when I was all grown up but still deciding what I wanted to Do With My Life.
Whatever you do [he would say] do it brilliantly.
