Then Jen and I played the traditional festive game of 'find the blown bulb'. Our set of Christmas Tree lights consisted of fifty tiny white bulbs on a double strand of wire, each set in a small coloured plastic shade. The problem was, as they were wired in series, every single one of those bulbs had to be working and properly screwed in before any of them would light, and every year one or more of them would manage to work loose or blow in storage.And, to add insult to injury, although Jen and I knew just how much care we had taken to coil the wire up neatly when we had put it away the previous Twelfth Night, yet again it had somehow tangled itself in the box, so we ended up effectively playing a frustrating game of 'cats cradle' before we could lay the wire out in a long line.I thought about winding the cable around Jen's forearms, so that I could sneakily tie her up and molest her without retaliation, but Mum kept coming and going so there was little chance of that. I whispered my. It was The Wardrobe.Slowly, reverantly, I opened one of the doors. But instead of wintercoats, there were little girl dresses hanging in The Wardrobe. Eventhough they were all too small for me, I still found myself admiringthem and wishing I could try them on.Then the voice came to me. Well, not actually a voice, but a sort of...thought. It was the same thought that had brought me to this warehouse,this crate, and this wardrobe. The thought was saying, I must moveforward. With my heart thumping with both fear and excitement, I movedsome of the dresses aside and climbed in.As I moved through row after row of dresses, I noticed they seemed to begetting bigger. I found it difficult to not stop and admire the dresses,especially when I came across one which I knew, somehow, was mine. Itwas a summery pink eyelet dress with lacy white trim on the hem andshort, poofy sleves, a white peter pan collar and a white satin sashthat was tied in a huge bow in the back. Before I knew it I had gotten.
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