I wanted him to like me so I made sure I was the right type. With a designer label and a shade of darkness, I could fit anyone’s style.
I was bought at a thrift shop by a man who was too big. Although he wasn’t as young or as handsome as the man before him, he had a nice smile and strong hands. His arms were longer than mine and when he stepped inside me, he didn’t feel right. Instead, he was constantly rolling up my sleeves to hide my short comings and leaving me hung open so that he would not bulge against my buttons.
When people asked him where he found me, he would say ‘Brooks Brothers’ instead of Threads Unlimited and for awhile I took that as a compliment. No one needed to know about my divorce from the previous man who had owned me once with pride only to drop me for something more trendy.
Our relationship was fraught with the need to fit in verses the need to fit. When he went to work, he promptly shoved me in the closet, not wanting people to know I didn’t size up. If I wasn’t waiting in a hallway somewhere, I was slouched in a chair, quietly wondering when he would come back.
Although we aren’t perfect, I know that this is just business. Come date night, I’m the first he will choose.
Object Relations 