Downsizing

I’m not proud of it (translation: I wish it wasn’t affecting me so much), but I’ve lost weight during my heartbreak over M. When the man you love walks out on you, I guess you sort of lose your appetite. Like forever. And since the chest is where a girl tends to lose weight first, I found myself at VS this weekend getting fitted for some new bras. “You are a perfect size blankety-blank,” the girl said, and this was a smaller size than I’ve been wearing for the past decade. Expression of regret. 

I guess I don’t know why I’m telling you this story, other than that you should have seen me yesterday, aka Day One With a Smaller Bra. Being so used to my regular size, I felt squished. Downright constricted. At one point while sitting in a conference room interviewing a candidate for an open position at my company, my heart began palpitating. Like a bunch of times in a row. “This damn bra’s going to kill me,” I thought as I wondered how I was going to get through the interview, let alone the day.

It’s better than being floppily doppily, I guess, but should I really have to choose? Riddle me that, VS. Riddle me that.

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