I’d never had a little black dress. Nor even a big one. Shapeless grey, that was me. But this, this was something different. It seemed to beckon to me from the shop window as I walked down the High Street. I stopped, and stood for a while, my gaze lost in the black silk. The dress seemed to whisper to me, promising me everything I had ever desired.

The following week I heard the dress murmuring, calling me softly as I turned into the High Street. It was still in its place in the centre of the window. So beautiful it was, and yet it had not been sold.

No. I’m waiting for you.

I stepped inside the shop. I did not even get to try the dress on. The assistant looked at me sneeringly. Up and down. As if I was a blot on the landscape. A monstrous carbuncle. Which I was. How presumptious of me for having a large body. A body which men like to touch and squeeze.

I want you to do something for me.

“Please let me see it!” I implored. The assistant pursed her lips and brought it from the window. She held it out for a moment and I caressed the silk. Waves of warm energy flowed to me. Warm loving energy.

Would you like to have me? What will you do for me?

"Anything," I said. "Anything."

Anything?

It was a size 10. "Yes," I sighed, "anything. I love you. I want you."

I went to the supermarket and filled my bag with carrots and lettuces and low-fat yoghourts. I threw out all the foods that would prevent me from having my heart’s desire. Every week I went to the shop on the High Street to visit the dress. And every week it was still there, in the middle of the window.

I’m waiting for you.

There came the day when the assistant looked me up and down and measured me with her snooty eyes, and allowed me to take it to the cubicle and hold it, while she stood guard by the door, her arms folded. The dress shimmered and whispered close to me. It cleaved softly to my body, and soothed me.

Soon I’ll be yours. Very soon.

The hunger was difficult to bear, as I lay in the night in my big black wooden bed, hearing the mice pattering and the cat scratching and the old house creaking, sensing the scowl of the big black spider in the corner. But whenever I thought I could bear it no longer, the dress stole into my mind and reminded me of my pledge.

Every week I went to the shop on the High Street and was allowed to hold the dress. It seemed the thinner I got, the smaller the dress got. It was a test of my devotion.