I believe everyone has at least a handful of memories about their mother based on something she wore. There are two dresses that define my mother to me. The first one is an orange hippie print minidress with chiffon butterfly sleeves, and the second one, a long pale yellow see-through dress that leaves nothing to the imagination. I have never seen my mother wear either of these dresses, I have just heard the stories. The story about the second dress is linked to her having started dating my stepfather in the early 1980s, and having worn the dress without a petticoat or a bra. (I love my mom!) These days I own the butterfly dress. At least once a year either me or my sister try on the pale yellow see-through dress at our mother's place, and every time we wonder how she ever had the guts to wear it in public.
Fast-forward to today, and there I was, spending my time in Fida, not really finding anything interesting, until I touched a piece of clothing on a messy rack of clothes. The fabric immediately felt familiar, and I touched it again. The piece of clothing in question was hanging in the middlebit of the hanger, in a bundled up lump, and I couldn't even figure out if it was a skirt, a shirt or a dress. But as soon as I touched it for the second time, an electric shock of recognition went through my spine. I knew it was my mother's see-through dress. Not in pale yellow, but in white. I immediately phoned up my mother, my sister, anyone I could think of. "It's the dress! THE dress! In white!"
And yes, the dress was in my size. Lo and behold: here it is. If I ever lose my mind and feel like getting married on a beach, I know what I will be wearing.