So the dress that was taken in for DNA testing. It was fuchsia (not red PC Kent) and was the one dress I knew I could rely on to cover Maxine my budda belly without being black. I loved that dress. Oh the adventures we have had with dress! It flatters without being slutty. A rare classy look for me. I usually go for transparently obvious. But Traffic People dress meant I didn’t need to.
In the face of winter fast approaching and me not having a winter coat I knew that my focus needed to be on finding a decent winter coat. But instead I got myself out of my self-pity bed and decided to go to the Traffic People shop on the Kings Road.
Let me explain. I wasn’t really leaving home as much as I normally would. I was stopping to let people pass me as I didn’t like men walking behind me. I really did start to think that every man was a threat. I didn’t like myself but I knew I had to start living normally. What better way than a trip up the Kings Road to restore my spirits. I think I was still in shock and I needed to do something to stop myself blaming myself for the incident. You know, reliving it and re-plotting my journey home. Maybe taking the offer of a shared taxi home etc. What can you do? It’s the minds way to try to control and rationalise these situations. But you just can’t.
So I went whistling as I walked only to find…the shop has closed down!
I didn’t know what to do my precious. I stood there for at least 5 minutes staring in disbelief at the shop. Was I going to burst into tears and cause a scene on the Kings Road?
Eventually I just turned and walked home. It wasn’t my week clearly. And why was I hunting for a dress that was at least 3 seasons old? I had to get over it and focus on getting a winter coat. England doesn’t play when it comes to cold. The rain warned me of cold times to come.
But thanks to Facebook I will always have the photos of Maxine and I in that dress. We sure had fun. And if I’m honest, the reason the attacker struggled with my dress is that it was a tad snugger in the hips than it should have been. Yeah all those haribos finally found a home.
I’ll have to save my therapeutic shop for another day. Apparently this is normal post trauma shock talking. The need to shop however is part of me. That hasn’t died. That will never die.
© Chelsea Black
UPDATE: The police determined it was too expensive to DNA test my dress or coat and I had to go and pick them up at an inconvenient police station. How is this about the victim? Nonsense