the angst of being between dress sizes. (possibly TMI)
I considered the following positions:
- My body is expensive. Time for some made-to-measure work skirts. And WORK THOSE SKIRTS (god. sorry. that was so bad.)
- I finally fill out a size 8! Hawt. Oh wait. Gotta persuade some minions to crawl around on the floor in case I drop stuff. Which is all the time.
- Attempt to lose 1/4” off my butt. AND compromise some of my dearest morals, i.e. “dieting is evil, being a social construct invented by the patriarchy to oppress and shame the female form”, and “cheesecake can do no wrong”
- Buy the size 10. Swim in skirt while gaining about 8kg and a tofu face.
Nobody told me puberty was going to keep going on and on and on. Hello, booty! But also, DAMN YOU BOOTY.
ETA. the solution has been discovered. amazingly, while consumed in unthinking haze of angst. it is to randomly walk into a HKesque frilly boutique, demand a black skirt and discover that it…kinda fits acceptably.
