Friday, November 04, 2005

To the Girl Who Won My Dress,

I had my eye on that dress, you know. It was adorable, it was perfect, it was my size. I checked in on the auction several times a day just to gaze upon it. I tried to imagine what it would look like with me in it, knocking back some drinks and looking glamorous. Seeing that the auction was going to end around 3 a.m., I liked my chances of winning. Not many people are going to stay up until the wee hours to engage in a bidding war.

I was prepared for battle, though. I wanted that dress. But somewhere around 2:30 a.m., I began to fade. Usually the adrenaline rush I get from these auctions is enough to keep me going, but suddenly, it wasn't. I decided that instead of sniping, I would play fair. I entered the maximum amount I was willing to pay and I went to bed, praying to the dress gods that I would wake up in the morning a proud owner of a smoking dress.

But you, my friend, swooped in with 58 seconds left and won my dress with a mere dollar more than my maximum. Sure, you won fair and square. It was my own fault for not sacking up and staying awake for another 30 minutes for a dress I wanted so badly. But you got my damn dress. For that, I hate you. For that, I must curse you:

I hope you look fat in it.