She was never pretty in a dress. In fact she wasn't very pretty anyways, or at least that's how she felt. Pretty girls wore pretty dresses that fit quite right and Norah never felt quite right in the dresses that should have been pretty. The pink ones with the polka dots and the green ones with the fabulous fabric flowers on the front, beaming from the hangers, gleaming in the dressing room and sighing sadly as Norah tried them on. Her tummy stuck out strangely in the dresses. Her bottom portruded. Her arms jelled. Every time was equally grotesque.
Poor little Norah and her inability to wear dresses. Despite her feelings of unprettiness and her lack of dresses, Norah never gave up. She kept on trying on the dresses.