I woke up Sunday morning and saw my skirt. That's when I realized the following was just a dream. I was so happy to have the skirt, that I wore it all day Sunday.

I've left something else somewhere. This time, I notice when I arrive home, drunk and irrational, rather than in the morning, groggy and headachey.

A bag, with a skirt in it. Not my gray pleated skirt, but my short, orange and black plaid skirt (one of my favourites). I left it at Crack Alley.

I got very angry when I found out I could never have the skirt back. Apparently, Drock had tried it on and fell in love with it. {Really, I think it might fit his thigh} I was told to calm down. I yelled a bit. I was told that even if he gave it back, I wouldn't want it; it wouldn't fit; he'd stretched it. It's not really the kind of material that could fit, but Drock wanted it so badly, he made it work.

Then, I pictured how cute he'd be and figured I could live without it. After all, I only paid a few dollars for it at Value Village.