In the parking garage, I almost rammed a car in front of me. Not that I was mad. It was just one of those weeks when I feel like the elastic in my favorite panties. With all my wishful thinking, it can only stretch so far.
I was meeting my friend at the mall who’d been having a similar type of week. Crabby and frazzled, at some point we collapsed on the couches next to Macy’s and vented over Red Bull and green tea. At least she had a couple of new suits to show for her endeavors – hers had become too loose thanks forgetting to eat for the past month.
“The last time I was size 4 was years ago,” I said, full of jealous nostalgia.
“Yeah? Well, I like it better when I’m size 6. That means you got shape.”
“More like belly fat folds.”
“No, the right kind of curves.”
Bliss. Bliss. Bliss. And where did all the weight go?