Dear Lady Dior,
I bet you didn’t know it was your cute squarish silhouette and your jingling, iconic light gold Dior hardware that made me swoon when I first laid eyes on you in the shop you resided. I was sad that day, still upset and indignant from that horrible Mrs Yan who told me last week that I was laid off and that this was my last week. I had never felt so cold inside. It was a loss I couldn’t take. My colleagues, no matter how light their interactions were, they were my main social life. All that was taken away from me and I thought that void I was in could never be more lonely and bare. Until I saw you.
Yes, I know you are an inanimate object. I know that you are far from the orthodox terms of normal relationships and connections. But I could not take my hands off from running across your exquisite, silky quilted lambskin. Although the girl said that you were a Medium, I still found you a little too small to squeeze my fat fold-able umbrella, Stephen King and water bottle in. But it was alright with me. Love is not real love without its imperfections. The moment I walked out of the store with you swathed safely in a bag pouch in a white paper bag, I was strangely strengthened and empowered, as if nothing could ever dampen my spirit and bring me down on my knees again.
Heck, Lady Dior, I don’t even think that my ex even made me felt the way you made me feel before. Sure, getting you took a sizable hit on my wallet but I felt nothing to it. I mean, I paid off my ex’s wardrobe and that expensive Swiss watch (I’ve forgotten the brand) for one of his birthdays and look what that got me?! Not even a goodbye face to face. Brushed off, just like Miss Yan had did to me.
I have never been happier during the times I had with you. That amazing feeling when I have you dangling on my arm as I stepped out of the house! Your iconic design made every one of my rather plain dark colored outfits instantly stylish and dignified. Every time I went out holding your supple yet stiff handle, I felt like I am holding onto a strong, firm upper arm of prince charming, feeling happy and secure whenever I go to, with envious girls looking at me and wishing that they have the same bliss I had.
I couldn’t bring myself to say this out loud, so I will confess in this letter. I am really sorry, Lady Dior, for being terribly mad at you for losing my items every now and then. It’s just that when your price tag comes to mind… no, I shouldn’t even be calculating. This is how relationships end! It wasn’t entirely your fault and I should have been more careful of stuffing my items back once I am done with them. I shouldn’t have shoved my mobile into your arms without looking as I ran for the bus, or my water bottle until I heard it shatter on the ground. Despite me blaming you for them, you stood by me where ever I go and was there whenever I needed you the most. I am a truly blessed girl to have such a understanding and patient companion like you. I know you are just a bag. An object. But thank you Lady Dior, for almost, almost giving me a sense of unconditional love.