I always loved my nightie my mother bought it for me at a charity shop when I was seven. It was second hand, I never agreed with the term second hand, how was I to know if a hundred people had owned it before me, it could be hundreds of years old and could have travelled around the world for all I knew.
But that’s what I loved. I saw myself as another owner on a nightie that was a wander, after I was finished with it I would pass it on to someone else. Then it would immortalise me in its threads. In my mind’s eye every owner would add somehow to the cloth changing it ever so slightly, there was a hole in the bottom a very small one but I had to stitch it up with a pink string my own personal touch.
As evening approached I would be impatient for one of my parents to say: “hit the sack” then I would race upstairs and slip on my nightgown it was a far to long for me but that’s what I loved, I felt like a princess with her gown flowing past her. It was quite romantic. I would slowly descend the stairs watching as my nightie trailed behind me. My house would suddenly transform into a magical castle, where anything and everything was possible, as long as I wore my special gown.
As morning approached I would quickly fold it away in my draw keeping it safe until night when the magic would start all over again. I would get a lot sick and have to stay at the hospital; my nightie was immediately needed to transform the ward into my magical palace once more with me as its princess. Peach in colour, with small roses running the length of it, but now it’s quite worn it’s not as vibrant as it once was which makes me think that I was probably only the second owner but I still love it, reaching my knees its less of a princess dress but it will always make me feel like that little girl who was the owner of my castle.