The sorrow of borrowing

At 6a.m, I finally decided to get out bed. I had barely slept a wink that night because every time I dozed off, I started to dream that I had missed the much anticipated concert at my school. Soul Touch was a band of five well-nourished boys in their early twenties. With their baggy jeans and sun glasses, could they be more perfect? I wasn’t the first to get up; some of the other girls had been up for an hour or so, trying on different outfits. Amateurs! I had picked out my pink body-hugging dress a week before and had ironed it every day since. But when I finally wore it, for the first time it occurred to me that I was 14 and there was really nothing to “hug” as yet; my bust was still somewhat flat, my hips still hadn’t made an appearance and because of that, my tummy looked as round as a sphere. For the next hour, I tried on different combinations of outfits from my wardrobe to no avail. I went to ask for help from different people in my dormitory and they either didn’t have an outfit to lend me or their choices were less than desirable to me. I was in distress. At 9a.m, Lisa came to my rescue and lent me her blue dress with white polka dots. Much to her surprise and dismay, it fit me perfectly. So she chose to follow me around and every time someone gave me a compliment, she would immediately exclaim, “I know! She looks so good in my dress! It’s almost as though I bought it for her!” At 10a.m, we sat down in the Main Hall, but not before Lisa could tell me to clean the space I was going to sit on to avoid making the dress dirty. She whispered so no one could hear but it didn’t make it any less humiliating. At 11a.m, the concert began, filled with deafening screams of excitable teenage girls. At 11:30a.m, I was picked out to be serenaded on stage. As I stood up to go, the dress was ripped by a nail on the side of the chair. When I turned around, Lisa slapped me senseless.

Education

The sorrow of borrowing