There was a box of carton, designed to hold an array of buttons. Fabric ones, plastic ones, and metal ones embellished with fancy gems, the buttons were colorful and seemed to dance around in their partitioned spaces like youths at a discotheque.
The dressmaker was very intrigued by this collection of buttons. "This is interesting," she would think to herself, "I could use this for a gown, this for a shirt, the other for a blouse with matching ribbon trimming". The dressmaker spent days sorting, categorizing, and then reorganizing her box of buttons.
Years went on and the dressmaker produced many well-loved pieces for her distinguished clientele, often finished with buttons from the same carton box, for decorative purposes or for their functionality. The dressmaker was so pleased with her box of buttons she would recommend a variety of designs to customers, show them off to her colleagues, and also the boy at the newspaper stand who has a penchant for small shiny objects. The button box was her best assistant at work.
Eventually button designs began to run out. Each time working on new projects, the dressmaker had to ponder longer and harder on the type and placement of the buttons to perfect her outfits. The leftover buttons began to restrict the way certain clothes were finished, having bigger influence on the creative designs by the dressmaker.
One day the dressmaker made a visit to the store for sewing supplies. The storekeeper directed her to the shelves where she could get more buttons. The dressmaker chanced upon a new carton of buttons filled with all new and never seen before designs. Amazed by her new buttons, she kept popping the box lid up stealing glances at the new buttons. "With this new box of buttons, my work can be interesting again!"
At the workshop, the dressmaker immediately removed the old button box from her workstation. She emptied the box of its few odd numbered buttons, and slid them in a packet then dropped it into her handbag so she could give it to the boy at the newspaper stand the next time she sees him. "He would be quite happy receiving the buttons. There were sparkly ones in there" she chuckled.
The newly purchased button box was set in the spot where the dressmaker used to put the old one. "And what to do with this?" she held the old carton box up to the light. "It's corners are dented, torn on one side and started to yellow from frequent use. This box looks boring and it's empty anyway..."
The dressmaker strolled to the storeroom and opened the door. She fumbled for the switches to turn on the dim tungsten lamp, frowned as she looked around for an unoccupied spot, then flung the old carton box into it. "I'll come back to this boring old box when I find a need for it."
The dressmaker switched off the light and closed the door, going about her chores to unpack and organize her new box of buttons. She did not know that in several months to come she would forget about the old, empty and boring carton box, leaving it to rot in the humid and narrow storeroom. It's fate was with the roaches and silverfish, never reunited with the dressmaker again.
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