humid blue

my dress was baby blue,
like if you added pastel food dye
to a toddler's vomit.
it was ruffled, too;
chunky.
i'd just spit it up
on the car ride over.

my glasses pushed themselves up my nose,
sweaty heart slammed into my ribs,
fingers clutched the dress -
the ruched bottom,
gathered and floral,
vintage and mine.

i can't even remember where i found that dress.
maybe aj wright. probably.
my dresses never fit my boobs
if you could call them that
and this dress wasn't fooled
by my slightly oversized tan bra
so
my mom sewed the top together
to hold in what? - no idea
but i tugged up the straps
over my worthless bra
as we sat on a burning bench
and you went,
"no, don't pull it up."

i didn't look
to see if your eyes were twinkling,
baby blue in their glee.