I just realized I’ll need to buy a bathing suit sometime in the next few weeks. I had one, but donated it when I decluttered — it was 6 years old and had always been a little loose on me, and it was silly of me to ever entrust my breasts to a Target swimsuit with no underwire.
But my body image has been hovering around normal this week, so it’s probably best not to destroy it with a trip to the mall and fluorescent fitting-room lights on my bare thighs. We’ll wait for the bridge troll to re-inhabit my psyche. We’ve discussed the eating of my feelings, so the steady intake of Mexican food, cheesesteak hoagies, and bagels should start screwing with my body and my brain any day now.
Smug Singleton 