The little black dress

It has a raw silk body, a lace outside and pale coloured reflective beads sewn on it. It has adjustable straps and a sweet little button on top of its zip. It is sleek and black and beautiful. It is my Official Christmas Party Dress. I have it hanging on my office door today so that I can wear it to the firm's Christmas dinner.

The first Christmas ball it debuted as The Dress was when I had been crying my eyes out hours before over a life threateningly major breakup. My friends hmmed and hawed but they couldn't convince me why I should dry my eyes and become the Cinderella who went to the ball. Eventually, I was talked into going by my mother. She met me at Selfridges (my favourite department store in London) and we bought The Dress thirty minutes before the dinner was due to start. I changed inside the posh loos of the Grosvenor House Hotel and ran out to meet everyone in the lounge to have the last of the champagne. Everyone told me I looked fabulous, and the compliments greatly lifted my depressed spirits. One of my friends lifted me onto his shoulders and carried me into the ball room for a dance. I was so happy even the hangover felt worthy.

The second time The Dress and I went out was fun, but crazy and dangerous. The evening was spent inside a cavernous clubbing venue in East London - there were swirling lights, performers doing impressions of Kylie, Madonna and others, and lots of champagne. The champagne was my undoing. I was there with a bunch of people who had been worked within an inch of their lives, and they wanted to party. We drank and drank and drank. We giggled at the most silliest of things. Then we danced. I was giddy and uncoordinated (as I am even when I am sober). There was a round edged platform at the darkest corner of the floor towards the tables which I did not see. I went flying - in fact, I felt I really was flying, as it seemed to take such a long time to hit the floor. According to witnesses, I shot across the floor at the height of the tables and skidded to a halt at the end, only just managing to avoid landing on top of the tables. I was surrounded instantly by many seriously concerned guests. But I was so merry, I had plasters stuck onto my raw knees and the bleeding cut on my ankle and then went on to dance until 3 a.m. The next morning I realised my ankle had swollen to the point where I could not move. I still have the cut on my ankle marked out as if I have been branded.

The Dress was always a size too big for me. In our hurry my mother and I had not checked the size. This morning, when I tried it on, I found that it fits. Oops. Maybe I will have to drink less tonight.