I was a little girl for a big event. Christmas probably.
My mother painstakingly curled my long hair into ringlets “like Shirley Temple!”, and tied it half up in a big fluffy red bow on top of my head.
I had a matching white dress covered in bright red polkadots with a red sash, and little bright patent red shoes and white socks.
I felt.. SO.. PRETTY.
I was in my favourite colour at the time (red.. although these days I have a few favourite colours, namely magenta and cobalt blue), and I had everything matching perfectly with these little soft ringlets around my face, not losing their shape and bouncing back and forth like on TV.
It was the first time I realized how clothes could make me feel a certain way. I woke up one day and was “normal” and once I was dressed up, I was completely transformed.
I even got to wear some of my mother’s blush on my cheeks and I just recently had my ears pierced with little gold heart studs (I no longer wear piercings because I have eczema and have battled it for years with pierced ears).
Practical Parsimony
I was two. My mother had made me a new dress. I was transformed and like it.
Sherry of Save. Spend. Splurge.
See? clothing has powerful memories.