While I was diligently working to make my face fit to be seen at a swanky restaurant, my husband became impatient. I don’t know why. I had been in the bathroom only for an hour and a half. When he reminded me that we were in danger of losing our restaurant reservation, I cracked open the bathroom door and assured him that I’d only need another ten minutes. Fifteen, max.
“How’d you like to join our weight loss competition?” my chiropractor asked me, even though I was wearing one of my most slimming outfits. I politely declined—the last thing I need in addition to a spine that needs weekly ironing is to enter a weight loss competition with other patients.
I’m lying on a mat at the gym, bored out of my mind but still keeping up with an endless loop of ab crunches. Joey, the perky new instructor, has us doing this at warp speed. You know, just to get the heart rate up. I keep stealing glances at the clock – has it only been eight minutes? Oral surgery seemed to go faster than this.
I popped into a T.J. Maxx store today, hoping to score a fashion bargain or two. Shoppers like me who don’t like to reveal a lot of skin to the public have our work cut out for us: Finding attractive and stylish clothing that doesn’t also compromise our dignity is like panning for gold—in the Sahara Desert. When I saw this itty-bitty piece of fabric masquerading as a “skirt,” I just stared at it. I have Band-Aids at home bigger than this “garment.”