My friend and coworker, who is a petite athletic girl with cool style, was getting rid of a lot of clothing on Friday and offered some to me for free. I was happy (and stunned) to find that the dresses she was offering actually fit. A few of them looked really cute (including the one I'm wearing today). I went to Target and bought a belt and sandals to go with this one...and the belt is a size small.
A size small. I don't wear a size small ANYTHING. Even gloves. I know sizes are all subjective to brands and they're growing more and more meaningless with vanity sizing and whatnot, but it still felt pretty cool to buy a belt in size small (that I'm wearing right now) and have it look nice.
I also bought a swimsuit later in the weekend. It's an all right suit, and the colors are pretty, but I'm mourning the loss of my big boobs.
Did even more meal-prepping yesterday: Salmon and asparagus, chicken and Brussels sprouts, salad, Scotch egg burgers (I didn't have any compliant pork sausage so I used ground beef instead), berries, and all sorts of things. I'll be eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner out of Tupperware all this week in preparation for Love's Labour's Lost opening this Friday. My poor car is chock full of craziness, and I have my Caboodles makeup kit under my desk at work (it'd melt if I left it in the Prius.)
I'm making a promise to myself right now that I won't get down on myself for my tighter-than-tight little black dress of a costume. The show is a big colorful display of poetry and music and comedy; no one's going to be staring at my rolls and wondering why they'd cast someone like me in a romantic role next to a handsome bloke like our King Ferdinand. (And if they are, they're trying very hard to be dickbags and their opinion doesn't matter). I just hope I can dance in it.
40 days until my birthday (already daydreaming about ice cream and booze).
No comments:
Post a Comment