...cont'd (still)

4) The children clause. As I'm trying to try these things on, Tobin is jumping on the newly remodled couch-things in the dressing room trying to see his shoes, and Aiden starts crying. So, I have *half* of cute little bra #1 on and regular ol' cotton granny panties, and I'm forced to pick up the baby, bouncing him around the room, trying not to look at my pasty white skin that hasn't see daylight in MONTHS, and Tobin decides that would be a SWELL time to open the door. I could feel the satisfactory smirks from all those evil-eye givers at once. Ugh.

I cram my clothes on, and the kids in the stroller and try and make my getaway from the EVER so helpful salesgirls and their prodding questions, which I am FAR too sensitive for by that point. "How did those work for you?" How would a karate chop to the jugular work for YOU, Miss SkinnyMini?!? or "Did you need another size?" NO, no I do NOT thank you, since I am clearly a whale and NOTHING will ever fit me and look good, so if you don't MIND, please leave me to wallow in my flabulous misery! I gather my newly and extremely humbled self, keep my eyes lowered and beeline for the nearest exit, never looking back.

Well, as if on cue, both boys just woke up. So I'm going to haul myself upstairs in my comfy, baggy sweats and create and art project for Tobin and I out of every magazine with a flawless person with huge breasts and skinny thighs I can find. Curse them, curse them all.

quote for the day, "I'm tired of all this nonsense about beauty being only skin-deep. That's deep enough. What do you want, an adorable pancreas?" Jean Kerr