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There is nothing like the feeling of standing in a Dillard's department store dressing room with that damnable unflattering florescent lighting and ill painted walls that make your reflection in the mirrors (that have to be some they got from a frickin' funhouse) pallid and wan.
You stand and gaze at your reflection, willing yourself not to flinch, and inspect the piece of lingerie that you have on. You know that you will wear said piece of lingerie for thousands of people, and it's enough to make you seriously consider MacGuyvering your vacuum cleaner hose into a makeshift liposuction device and getting after some of the cellulite on your thighs. It's definitely enough to make you steadfast on sticking to your diet. It's enough to make you regret everything you ever put in your mouth... like... ever. Ever, ever, ever.
*sigh*
I think I've managed to find something provocative without being slutty.
Which is a sentence I couldn't have predicted writing before a month ago.
You stand and gaze at your reflection, willing yourself not to flinch, and inspect the piece of lingerie that you have on. You know that you will wear said piece of lingerie for thousands of people, and it's enough to make you seriously consider MacGuyvering your vacuum cleaner hose into a makeshift liposuction device and getting after some of the cellulite on your thighs. It's definitely enough to make you steadfast on sticking to your diet. It's enough to make you regret everything you ever put in your mouth... like... ever. Ever, ever, ever.
*sigh*
I think I've managed to find something provocative without being slutty.
Which is a sentence I couldn't have predicted writing before a month ago.
