The Perfect Wedding

There she was the most perfectly shaped body ever created, and she was to suppose to buy me. As she looked through the dress, I pictured her wearing me, walking down the aisle, looking like an angel. But wait, out of the shadows the unshapeliest figure, looking at me. Every monstrous step she took, the floor shook beneath me. It was as if someone had unleashed Godzilla on to the unsuspected wedding shop, and I was her victim. If I had a mouth, I would have screamed. She squeezed herself though me, not noticing that the she had ripped my seaming. The shapely women, that dreamed to be worn by, looked at me as if I was her lost love forced into the arms of fat, ghastly, wicked women.
On the day of the wedding, after screaming at he brides maids for leaving her place cards at the hotel, she once more squeezed her humongous body into me. I begged God to free my soul from God’s sense of humor turned bad. There I was the most handsome, attractive, and charming wedding dress. Made by one of the best designer in the world, and now worn by enormous, lazy, and rounded, stubborn, rich women.
As she walked down the church aisle, the sound of my beautiful silk ripping filled the air. She turned red and ran to the nearest restroom. For a couple of minutes, she stood their crying. Then as if it was my fault that she was fat, and it was my fault that I did not inform her that I was about to rip. She got a pair of scissors and rips me into even smaller pieces, than flushed me down the toilet. Unfortunately, for both of us, the toilet was out of order, and it threw me out like a soccer ball and on her once more.