The one that got away

So. Regret.

You caught my eye, hiding amidst a rack of tops that had seen better days. There was something special about you. I tried you on. You could have been something I could wear on my "fat days" without making me feel frumpy--you weren't form-fitting but you weren't dowdy; your long and somewhat puffy sleeves covered my arms, but you revealed a hint of one of my better features (my back). But the longer I looked at us in the mirror, the more I had second thoughts. Ultimately I decided you were too fashion (pronounced "fasyon") for me. That and the fact that I had a few bucks in my wallet to last me til payday compelled me to put you back in the rack. You were quite pricey for ukay. I had worked out a budget and I swore that I would stick with it.

But for days I couldn't get you out of my mind. I imagined what I could wear you with--my black slacks, my white mini-skirt, my dark blue jeans. I had to go back. With each busy day that passed, my anxiety grew. When I finally had time to go and get you, you were gone.

I thought you would lovingly take me back. What was I thinking? Hordes of people visit this, my secret ukay shopping place. I've even seen foreigners combing through the tapered 80s jeans and frayed and faded t-shirts. How could I have hoped or even thought that no one would notice you?

I went home, dejected, and told mumsy my story. Her response: "Pinag-isipan mo pa ang P75?!"

Damn budget. "At least you're disciplined," offered H.

"Disciplined nga, miserable naman!"

I'm never going to find another one like you.