...And Then I Met You...

The Dress

I'm currently hiding under the bed trying to disappear from my mom's monstrousness ideas. I've successfully managed to stay hidden for a good ten minutes, and I was feeling quite proud. One of the perks of living in a mansion-like house is that it's ideal for staying hidden. I shimmied under the bed more, trying to stretch my legs out and get as comfortable as I could get, and that's when I heard the door creak. I immediately froze with my legs and back stuck out an odd angle. I didn't want to make a peep; I'd rather die of suffocation that become prey to my mom's fashion sense.

"Ida, I know you're in here," Mom's footsteps grew closer, and I tensed even more, biting down on my lip. "Ida, c'mon, honey. It's only a dress; you're not gonna die."

Only a dress?! Wow, that's a big statement to make! A dress is a manifestation of horrors and entrapments. How can someone willingly choose to be chained down by the heavy weight of dresses, and their hindering ability to move freely, and the constant responsibility of being dainty and graceful? I can't move one inch without tripping, and wearing a dress would make that ten thousand times worse. All I wanted was to wear a pair of blue jeans and a simple, black shirt. After all it's only a dinner with Hiram's most valued partners and clients from his company that could make or break his life.

Well...now that I put it like that, I'm not so sure anymore. Who cares about Hiram anyway? Mom does, I chided myself.

The bed pressed down on my me, and I stifled a frustrated sigh. Get off the bed, Mom!

"Ida, come out now. Today's the not the time to fool around. I know you hate dresses, but just this one time can you cooperate, honey?"

Um, excuse me? I have been cooperating my entire life.

"Wouldn't you like to wear a pretty, designer, fashionable, comfortable clothes for once? Even if it is a dress. At least it's not those worn down, two sizes too big clothes you always wear. Please, Ida, wear it. For me."

Ugh. No, thank you. Why can't I just wear pretty, designer, fashionable, comfortable jeans and shirts for the dinner?

When I didn't say anything, Mom sighed, and pressed down on the bed more. I silently yelled at her. "Plus," she whispered in a tone that sounded far more playful than persuasive. "Wouldn't you want Alec to see you in a wonderful dress, looking so beautiful and-"

"Asdfghjkl!" Dang it! The moment she said Alec's name, I couldn't help the immediate reaction. I could already feel my cheeks blazing and the tight coil in my stomach. As much as I don't want to admit it, I wouldn't exactly mind having Alec seeing me put together. The only problem with wearing a dress, however, is that I'll probably really clumsy and make a fool out of myself.

"Aha!" Mom exclaimed, jumping down from the bed and crouching down to look at me.

It never fails to surprise me how young my mom looks. I always knew Mare was going to grow up to look exactly like Mom; she practically inherited everything from my mom: her hazel eyes, chestnut brown hair, and her bone structure.

"Okay, okay," I sighed in defeat. "You got me, but I'm not gonna wear a dress."

Mom grinned at me mischievously. "Alec's outside the room, you know? He's dying to see you in that dress-"

She broke off laughing as I started crawling out from under the bed frantically. "Alec is here already!"

She laughed even more, which just made me even more annoyed.

"Oh no, no, no! But I'm not ready! I mean it's not like it even matter anyway; he's seen me in my worst, but he's probably sitting there in a suit and tie and-" Oh bajeez! The thought of him wearing a suit and tie had my stomach flipping. Why am I feeling so nervous? "I'm a mess!"