The Case of the Missing Skirt...

For years, I've had this black, pleated skirt that I fell hopelessly in love with. We met, of all places, at a thrift store. I'm not knocking thrift stores, I just wasn't looking for anything. Isn't that what they say about all good relationships? I was there with a friend who was looking for parts of a Halloween costume. Little did I know that it would be with me for some of the best moments of my young life.

It was with me when I went to some amazing concerts. I wore it on dates. I made sure it was part of my ensemble when interviewing for jobs. It was my power skirt. When I wanted to look polished and classy, it was always there.

Two years ago, it went missing. I couldn't tell you what happened to it, because there wasn't a month that went by when I didn't wear it out somewhere. I feared the worst. I had convinced myself that it had either been left in the laundry room of my apartment complex, and was now making someone else's life better, or that I had left it in the car of a friend I no longer talk to. (It was in a bag, you dirty bird. Get your mind out of the gutter.)

I turned the house upside down, every 6 months or so, saying "If it's in here, it's here somewhere." I couldn't give up. It just didn't seem right. I needed it. It was my mojo seeker.

There's an event coming up that I want to look good for, and I thought just one more time, I'd look for it. If I found it, it was meant to be. If I didn't, I could finally let go of that nagging feeling, and promote another article of clothing. I had looked in every drawer, and closet that I could imagine having put it, and finally settled in on my last possible place. In my linen closet is a set of black bedsheets that I haven't put on the bed in, well, about 2 years. Folded up inside...the skirt.

I'm back. I'm ready for things to start getting good again.