I’ve been shopping for clothes. I swear my waist size expands two inches every time I step inside the dressing room door. In my mind, I’m the same size I was in high school: Twiggy thin with terrific, long, shapely legs.
However, the Dillard’s dressing room mirror indicates I’m now more akin to Humpty Dumpty with thighs that have migrated south, puddling just below my knees.
The things that fit make me feel like a frumpy old matron instead of the hot broad I am inside. But if I dress to please that broad, I end up looking like a ten dollar hooker.
After two hours of shopping, sweating, and cussing, I bought one item–an unsweetened iced tea at McAlister’s. It fit perfectly.