I'm Part Doll

Something about being somebody's something

He gave me a letter that first birthday. It said he understood me - in writing and form. I was twenty-eight. I cried.

We got married later that year.

I grew my hair out. He cut his short. We moved house twice. We have two boys. He brings me coffee in bed still. But I haven’t gotten too many letters. Sometimes I feel like something on a shelf.

*

Joe handed me the box after the boys fell asleep.

"It's for you," he said.

"But it says Joe," I said, looking at the label.

"Let's open it."

Joe cut the brown tape. I opened the box. There was white, unwrinkled tissue paper.

"It's different," he said. "Thought it would suit you."

It was red and pink lingerie. Well-made, with extra parts. Heart-shaped holes. Ruffles. I laughed out loud.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"It's something," I said.

There was a garter belt. Stockings. A bra with pleats and a matching pleated collar. White mesh gloves.

"Want to put it on?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "Definitely."

Before twenty-eight, I wore black lingerie. Simple, see-through. I had a piercing. I hadn’t worn any of that since my boobs became a mom’s.

I went to the bathroom, leaving the door open. I put everything on. My hair was short again; Joe cut it himself recently, just below the ears.

"Joe," I called. "Look at me."

He looked. Really looked. He started laughing. He took my hands, and held them out.

"Take my photo," I said. I posed.

“Would ya look at you," he said. "Like it was made for you."

We both laughed until our faces hurt. An unusual dressing on my same old body.

I felt different in those clothes. Like a toy. A doll. No thoughts, I was there to be pretty. It felt good to stop thinking.

We did what married people do. We touched. We played. I kept everything on.

After, he said, "I don't know how to say it. But something in you is that."

"Yes," I said. "Thanks for finding it again."

*

In the photo, I see myself. I look hot. I see my crows feet. And there is life in my eyes.

The outfit is in the closet now. Unboxed, hanging.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ I wear the gloves sometimes. Even in the day.

Soundtrack:

Thank you for loving love with me, reader.

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