Odd mood tonight

First, required reading.Second, I have always envied people who have "little black dresses" or their equivalent. They seem to be symbols of a woman's sexual power, a way of owning one's sexuality in a safe and controlled way. I do have a black dress, but my sexuality is (I hope) the last thing it symbolizes. Maybe I should tell you a bit about my dress.It belonged to my sister first. She wore it in High School, when she was the coolest person I'd ever known and the snappiest dresser since Madonna. When she went off to college, she left some of her clothes behind, most of which I unabashedly stole. She eventually stole them back, of course, but not that dress. It languished in the back of my closet, and I enjoyed the thought of having a "little black dress", even if I had nowhere to wear it. Fast forward to my senior year. The dress remained in the back of my closet, in an odd way mirroring my relationship with my sensual self. I was seventeen, studious, and antisocial (or so my mother said). It waited for a purpose . . . any purpose. And then it got one.My grandfather died in January, and my "little black dress", the only black thing I had to wear, was trotted out to serve as a funeral dress. Little did I know that a "funeral dress" was exactly what it would become. To date I have worn the funeral dress five times, and its conventional use has, for the moment, passed into the grey area that is my social life. It's really kind of funny, in a horrible way, how much that sums up my love life, really. Borne up on thin hopes and romanticism, only to die several coldly final deaths. Bloody Hell. I need a drink.