The May Dress

It was an unassuming dress shop on the corner of rue de Rivoli and Bertin Poiree, barely visible among the crowded bustle of tourists making their way to Pyramide du Louvre, Arc de Triomphe, La Patisserie du Meurice – all the local hotspots. The shop owner, a petite fashion maven with a blunt gray bob and a stylish floral maxi peeked her head from inside the doorframe to find me staring at her window. “It’s my last one you know. Your size I think?”

I ruffled with my sunglasses and faded denim jacket, told my family I’d be no more than 5 minutes, skipped over the souvenirs we had picked up – lavender tea and thyme-infused honey, mugs with little French flags, gem-encrusted key chains of the Eiffel tower- all the cheap and shabby keepsakes we could think of lugging back. A ‘remember when’ nod after intrusive thoughts started closing in – of buttery chocolate croissants and cherry cream tarts and dinners of brothy seafood stews and herbed steak frites. Of evenings on the Riviera, midnight carousel rides and day trips to Provence, mid-afternoon swims in the salty Mediterranean, coastal hikes and French pastry shops, the breathtaking view from the top of the Eiffel tower.

The small boutique was precisely what you might expect a French dress shop to look like- walls adorned in floral pink and cream paper, whitewashed antique furniture, faded floor-length wooden mirrors in carved, ornate patterns, a gold tray with coffee and bite-sized French sweets and creamy linen napkins with faded blue stripes. The change room was small, separated from the rest of the shop by a gauzy, double-layered sheet, skimming the floor and frayed at the bottom.

I came out and stared at myself.

It was a celebratory piece– a short, pale pink shift dress with intricate beading across the chest and delicate stitching around the cuffs, neckline and hem. It was the dress you pulled out when you felt like curling your dark, chin-length hair, and wearing coral-red lipstick and slipping on your favourite gold hoop earrings.

“It’s called the May dress. It was the designer’s birthday month, not her name.”

I loved it even more now.

But deep down, I wondered if it would sit in my closet with the tags still intact and after years of bypassing it… I’d toss it onto a pile of old Lulu scuba hoodies and faded, flared jeans and carry it off to meet its destiny- to a second-hand shop where a long-legged 20’ something would look at it and say “This was made for me.”

I stood across from her, the last patron of the day in a tiny Parisian boutique, accepting a white craft bag with thick rope-like handles, ruffled to the brim with a dress that was much too short and dainty for my frame, but one I loved anyway.

That night, we sat in our hotel room, too tired to move and ordered in from a little eatery down the street. We had champagne and brie and tomato sandwiches and jam-filled cookies and watched old episodes of I Love Lucy in French while packing for our long trip home the following morning. I slipped on the dress and stared at myself in the mirror, barefoot and tired, mustering up a twirl or two and smiling. “The May dress. The birthday dress”, I thought.

The following year brought a world pandemic. On May 29th, there was no good reason to wear my Parisian birthday dress. There were fuzzy gray slippers and oversized sweatshirts and messy topknots. There was a birthday cake of course and the love and kisses of my little family. Presents wrapped in pretty paper with bows and string, heartfelt cards and telephone serenades. There was prosecco and homemade sausage and mushroom pizza and folded paper napkins and even a surprise, drive-by birthday parade from my wonderful people. It was, by all accounts, as perfect as a pandemic birthday could be.

But today, a whole year later…today, I woke up to hot coffee and scrambled eggs, slipped on my white flip flops and Parisian birthday dress and ate outside with my notebook in tow. No night on the town planned, no quaint café brunch, no grand festivities at all– just a simple reason to celebrate life on this earth surrounded by those I adore. And in honour of them and their love, I observe my reason for being here–wearing the shortest dress in my closet, grateful to God for another trip around the sun– realizing that the blessing of every day, is reason enough for everything.