When I was in the fifth grade, I had a deep and meaningful relationship with this piece of clothing. It was a polka dot skirt, and somehow, someway, whenever I wore it, I felt like I was the most beautiful 11 year old in the whole world.

Yes, this skirt had magical powers.

The crazy thing was, that I tried to wear this skirt at least (at LEAST) twice a week. My mom hated that. Sometimes she'd try to hide it from me, but I had mad polka dot seeking skills, and I always found it.

Anyway, one day I'm getting dressed after gym class, and one of the girls in gym class (Amanda) asks me to try it on.

Knowing how beautiful, how magical, how fucking perfect my polka dots are, I indulge her. I hand over the skirt.

She tries it on, loves it, and seeing it on her oversized hips, I worry about my skirt. Is she stretching it out? Probably. Then, she utters the words that seal her doom. "Hey, Sal, I think we're the same size!!!" I choke out some response, but in my 11 year old head, I think "Bitch, please. Stick with your excuses of being big-boned. Your grandma was a fucking dinosaur."

She tries taking it off, but Oh, sweet, sweet Lord, my skirt is stuck. On her fucking body.

I run over to her, and as she's trying to yank it down, over her butt, I help her. I pull extra hard. No dice. Then, I decide to try yanking it over her boobs. No dice.

She probably would've given up long before I did, but I keep yanking. Over, then under. Over, then under. She finally says "Sal, I'm going to be late for class. SAL!!! You're hurting me!" (Damn straight! That's my sexy skirt, bitch!)

I yell at her "What the shit! ( I never said fuck back then) What about my skirt! It won't come off you. I KNEW it was too tight! Shit!"

About this time, our coaching assistant, aka, the big bad lesbian, hears us yelling. She sees the skirt, recognizes an exercise in futility, and comes back with a scissors.

She cuts the skirt off of Amanda. Before she did, I remember asking her if there was any other option. Maybe even cutting Amanda's tatas off. I didn't say it out loud, but the thought was implied. My pleas reminded me of a scene in Old Yeller. Only, I could never apply scissors to that beautiful cloth. No way.

I feel tears now, just thinking of those beautiful polka dots, and their death.

I was talking to my friend Jara the other night, and I mentioned the skirt. Knowing how I am, he made me tell the whole (horrible) story. When I got to the part about not being able to yank it off of Amanda's body, he laughed really hard. I did, too.

I still miss those polka dots.

The end.