it was friday and i thought it was as good a day as any to go try on small bits of spandexy fabric in poorly lit cubicles, so i did.
it started off interesting. i found what i thought was the perfect swimsuit, i.e. a suit that would magically transform into a swim-dress for those days when there might not be enough time for, shall we say, good and thorough personal grooming, and there might be a stray wolverine or two hanging about on the upper thighs, if you know what i mean, and i think you do (if any of my audience members are regular brazilian waxers, i salute you, but also i am a little bit disturbed).
i tried it on. it was not good.
the girl: how is it?
moi: i look like one of the real housewives of new jersey.**
the girl: ... that's not good, is it?
moi: no. no, it's not good.
it went downhill from there. i did not buy a swimsuit. but i tried on many many many swimsuits and would like to know why i can look halfway decent and relatively toned when i'm at home, but in the change rooms i magically transform into a quivering pudding of a mysterious greenish hue.
then i went and got the first good haircut since september and forgot about my lumpiness.
*no, i don't know where that is. yes, i know it sounds dirty, but i am in fact quoting shakespeare, so piss off.
** there is such a show, no? and it features curvy women in tight dresses with big hair, no? jesus, i am so out of the loop...