I’m not very good at being fancy.
Such being the case, you’d be surprised to know how much I love to wear a good dress.
Or maybe you aren’t surprised, just by nature of never having given any thought to what I wear because you don’t give a rat’s behind.
Regardless, the problem with really loving to wear a good dress is needing to buy a good dress, and before buying that dress, finding one that fits absolutely every part of your body. The French have a word for such a task: impossible. I’m the sort of unfortunate cartoon of a woman who needs to buy different sized tops and bottoms when getting a swimsuit, one with an “extra small” tag and the other with “extra large.” Such proportions do not bode well for a dress shopping experience.
Still, determined as I am, I spent the weekend clutching a fist full of birthday money and prowling the mall (money from cards that had all been scrawled with “FOR CLOTHES,” if that tells you anything about the state of what I’ve been wearing). I also spent that weekend crying into drive-thru soft serve. There are few things that contribute to poor body image so dramatically as ill fitting clothes do, and few things that settle the matter so poorly as drive-thru soft serve.
Why am I telling you all this?
I don’t know. You’re the one reading it.
Actually, while I’m thinking of it. Where do you buy a good dress? One that fits all over? Does anyone make those?
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