The strangest place it wore through was the tits. That’s where it ended up wearing through the most, though, and I suppose it is (was?) a sundress, so maybe that’s just the easiest place to go. As if it wants it, as if all clothing desires decay like some kind of fad or “”’fabricated(lol)”””” religious event. Like the pigs in the beginning of Babe, waiting and wanting to be reaped. Like the pop tarts in those fucked up old commercials. Pick me! Pick me!!

Cartoon faces going to grim shock when their comrade came back broken.

Lol.

I’m in a place, today.

I’d love if I could have it back, that dress. I tried to wear it bra-free like I usually did back when the baby was a fresh two or three months old and my tits had thought they were done with the level with which they’d hurt. I suppose it wasn’t quite so worn then, though, because I didn’t realize how fucked it was when I put it on. Part of that could be postpartum dumbness, but yeah. Point is the baby was in my arms and I was dozing and my tits hurt and suddenly he full-on latched and I jumped because I was like, fully dressed. Except evidently my warped, fucked up freshly milk baring nipple had been sticking through one of those holes.

My dress looks like a cobweb, now, up there. It looks like one of those tarps survivalists put over their campsite. It looks like all of that, but black with small yellow flowers.

I miss that dress so much.

(I still wear it. Just, with a bra. Just, only at home. I still wear it, though.)