goodbye, old friend

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I have a dress. It's a lovely dress. I wear it to go to the cinema. I wear it to visit friends and family. I wear it to go shopping. I even wear it to work. This dress has been my constant companion for nigh on four years. Maybe five? It's a brown dress, with three quarter length sleeves and it's ... well, it's difficult to describe. It is an extremely delicate dress, partly silk, a bit quirky, a bit floaty, needs to be handwashed. It comes from Phase Eight, which is one of my favourite shops. It's my piece of comfort clothing, I suppose. I feel comfortable, attractive, and safe when I'm wearing the dress. It both hides a multitude of sins and gives me curves and a cleavage. And now the dress is broken. Ripped, holey, ripped a bit more ... my heart is heavy and sad. It's not as though I don't have lots of other dresses and skirts and tops and jeans ... I'm a typical woman; I have nothing to wear! I squeal in frustration whilst standing in front of a wardrobe which is bursting at the seams. But this was my go-to dress, my comfort blanket if you will. Goodbye, old friend. I shall miss you muchly. So, what shall I do with the silky material?