If wishes were fishes, dresses might talk

Well, that's how I look in the catalogue but I don't quite look like that on her.

We had our first outing today and it wasn't quite as successful as I'd hoped. It started alright - she'd had a warm shower, her skin temperature was 37 degrees exactly and she'd used a plain oil as a moisturiser which sat well against my fabric. Fabrics are very well versed in chemistry - what you wear on your skin is important to us. We're also very vulnerable to careful handling. Actually you might want to remember that - it hurts us when you tug at zippers or open buttons roughly.

When she buttoned me up (nice and gently) we looked at each other in the mirror. "Well, I don't really do bows" she said to our reflection, and replaced my sash with a medium width belt of thick leather that had been dyed with vegetable dyes (yes, we can tell that too. Clothes are smarter than you think.).

The belt looked better but I don't think her shoes worked - flat black suede Aerosoles. No heels - I could taste traces of codeine and sour analgesics in her skin leftover from yesterday's migraine, so flat soft shoes were the best she could do. And only big fat pearl earrings - no pendants or chains which disappointed me because I've seen a black jet locket on her dressing table. I want that locket near my collar.

Her perfume was English and smelt of cedar and moss. Perfume is very important to us - we absorb it and it can become part of our fibre for all time, so we appreciate wise choices. It's still a little cold so she wore a trench coat and folded my collar outside. I liked that, and I liked the trench coat too. Trench coats are invariably good company. Quiet but nice manners.

At her office two people commented on me; both were curious about my heritage ("Lands End? Is that American?") and one actually gently rubbed the fabric of my hem between his fingers. "Nice cotton!" he said. I am nice cotton, it's true, I don't crush. His shirt was Italian and ignored me. Because we were stuck in her office all day I didn't get to meet many other clothes, just a few pieces of suiting that glanced at me but didn't say much. Still, it wasn't all bad - her seat is upholstered in a good quality wool, thankfully, and she managed not to drip her lunch-time soup over my bodice.

We're still not sure what we think of each other. I'm in the washing queue at the moment, both of us thinking that we may work together more harmoniously once I've had a wash. She has a large bottle of APC's delicate fabric washing liquid that was made by Aesops cosmetics and I'm pretty certain I will be sluiced with that. Finger (and seams) crossed - it smells divine.

And this came in and sniffed at me yesterday. It smells of fish and grass seeds and a certain endearing smugness: