Just ate a handful of almonds–why? It’s not like I was hungry. If we could all just manage our emotional eating, we’d be a lot thinner. Or I would, at least.

Anyhoo, I wrote A WHOLE BUNCH today (I unplugged from the internetz!) and this is some of what I did. It makes me laugh. Dunno if it’s any good, but I guess that’s a question for another day.

“The black? With what top?”

Becca frowned, biting her lip. Her face cleared, and she grinned. “I have something you can wear. Hold on,” she said, disappearing into her room.

I walked over to grab the skirt and started shimmying out of my jeans. Thank goodness I never wore Mom jeans, which could also be tagged teacher jeans; us elementary school teachers weren’t exactly renowned for our fashion sense, unless it was for our ability to choose wash’n’wear fabric. I zipped up the skirt and twirled.

“Back. Here,” Becca said, throwing something towards me.

I grabbed it out of the air and held it up. “No way, Becca.”

“You didn’t even try it on yet, Mom! Come on, what are you scared of? If it looks like crap, you don’t have to wear it. Just try it.”

“I can’t.”

“Mom. You can’t be scared of yourself your whole life. This is your big night, you should look as fabulous as you can. And in this,” she said, gesturing towards the top that couldn’t possibly be a medium, could it? “you will look totally fabulous.”

She was right, I couldn’t be scared of myself any longer. I mean, what else was I going to do? I’d been me for so long, and that wasn’t always a good choice. I might as well be me, only with superhuman confidence powers. Like when I was on stage tonight.

Yikes.

Stage.

Me.

Again, and not just playing cover songs at a wedding.

“Okay, let me try it on.” I struggled out of my t-shirt and dropped it on the floor.

“You’ve still got a nice rack, Mom,” Becca said.

“You are not being helpful,” I hissed at her as I began to put the top on.

It was red. Not fire engine red, but a darker cranberry. Which would have been fine, only it was a modified corset that was very low-cut, had tiny little straps holding it up and was done up with small hooks shaped like dragons on the front. And it was made of a stretchy fabric that clung to every part of my body.

Very Forever 21, and I was nearly twice that age.

So, yeah, working. At 22,998 words, but who’s counting?

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