I was walking down the street, and my mouth fell open when I saw what was coming my way. A shiny but skimpy teal dress, outlining a figure that would barely be contained by it were there actually someone in the dress, was making its way toward me. I knew it was simply a dress somehow filled out and moving on its own, rather than an invisible Woman wearing the dress, because there was a cardboard box in its path that was long enough to have affected the stride of anyone walking in that spot. But the dress made no attempt to walk around the box, nor did I see any visible evidence of feet stepping on the box. The dress just hovered its way along without shifting its stride in the least. I made no attempt to hide the fact that I was staring at the dress's shapely backside, visualizing the body wearing this dress that would be considered scandalous no matter how it fit.

As my gaze moved upward, looking at the way the front of the dress curved over quite large breasts, the dress stopped. A playful but assertive female voice said, “you should take a picture, it’ll last longer.” The dress had not turned around, but the voice sounded as if the speaker were facing me.

It's usually not like me to be that bold, but since I was invited, I decided to accept. “I think I'll do just that,” I said, pulling out my phone. Since the dress was still in the same spot, I zoomed in pretty tightly on that round empty posterior.

At that the dress turned around, as if it wanted to make sure I got the other side too. I wound up getting about half a dozen shots, and then, a surprise.

“I was being sarcastic more than anything else,” the voice said, “ but since you're so bold, I'll get a few of you too.” The dress was still ten feet away from me, but my phone yanked itself out of my hand and fairly flew over to where the dress was hovering.

The dress's response caught me by surprise, so all the pictures were of me standing in pretty much the same position.

“How are you taking pictures of me for yourself with my phone?” I asked.

“I'm texting them to myself,” was the answer.

“To yourself?” I repeated, just as the phone floated back to me.

As the dress strutted away, the voice softly said, “You'll figure it out.” The phone hovered in front of me and showed me the new entry for “Buxom Teal Dress” in my contacts, with a phone number, an email address, and even links for a couple of social media profiles. “Call me sometime,” the voice whispered.

I could hear the same voice’s musical laughter fading as the dress made its way down the street…