Thursday is my birthday. Hip-hip-hooray, I'll be 21!!!
So, my grandma decided to be nice and she handed me her Carson's charge card. OK, so Carson's IS an old woman's store, but they carry Tommy and Nine West, so I said, 'Hey thanks, Grams,' and dragged hubby shopping this morning.
My goal : 1 nice pair of jeans, a nice pair of slacks and one cute top. We start on the first floor. I grab for a size 14, think better of it, and yank the 16 off the rack. Baby fat, y'know? Nu-uh. Won't go. The ones that would made me feel like an overstuffed pork sausage. I stood in front of the mirror and fought tears. Then, THEN, out of the blue, the side view hits me. No ladies, it isn't the 'roll'...it's my profile. Of all things, at a time like that, the fat, the cellulite, the humilitation of having to trudge up to the second floor and shop with fat old ladies...my nose gets me.
Some loan me a few grand for rhinoplasty please...