Something happened yesterday that was still too painful to talk about last night, but I think I'm ready now. First a little back story:
In the 9th grade, my mom took me on a rare shopping trip to Marshalls for back to school clothes. I loved Marshalls because it was a rare chance to buy name brand clothes. Now don't get me wrong, I was just as amazing of a dresser as everyone else in the 90s. I had my Yaga shirts, jean shorts *jorts* (one pair of which were bright red...I'm assuming Bongo cause who else would make those!), and of course my 5-7-9 outfits (only because I was so skinny I needed a 0 and those were hard to find back then) with the mandatory coordinating scrunchy.
On this particular Marshalls trip, I hit the motherload. While skimming through the jean section in vain, because they are never long enough, I laid my eyes on a pair of Calvin Klein jeans and they appeared to be long. I hurried to the dressing room to see if this was really happening, and after pulling them down just slightly on to my hip bones, that were conveniently jutting out, the jeans barely touched the ground. I ran out of the dressing room to show my mom and to argue the fact that since they actually touched the ground, I HAD to have them, regardless of the price. This may not seem like a big deal to normal sized people, but when you are a size 0 and standing at a towering 5'9", this is better than Christmas.
My mom agreed that I needed those jeans, not that I would have taken no for an answer, and so now it was time to accessorize! This really was my special day because I found a white Calvin Klein shirt with the big CK on the front and a brown Calvin Klein belt with a CK on the piece that holds the extra part of the belt in place (which was the most important part of the belt for me because I had LOTS of extra leather). This little detail meant I would have to wear the shirt tucked in so everyone could see how fully coordinated I was. It was fashion perfection! (I looked for a picture, but couldn't find one...maybe my mom has one.)
Well, yesterday, as I was carrying bricks to the front of the house, the belt got scratched to a point that might be too far to save. Yes, I was still wearing a belt I bought in the 9th grade, but some things are timeless, and if I can still fit in it, I'm gonna wear it damnit! Steve thought I could put leather oil on it and it might have a chance, but after he heard how old it is, I'm not sure he wants me to try anymore. (I would like to acknowledge the fact that I know belts are not in style for women like they used to be, but I have a disease that makes my butt really big and my waist small, so I have to go up a size in jeans and have been too lazy to get them altered, thus requiring a belt.)
The loss of the belt is not the only injury I have incurred. I have ruined my manicure, broken both of my pinkie nails, dropped something on my toe and have had a sore toe for the last 4 days, kicked a cabinet and broke a toe nail, and discovered random bruises on my arms and legs. My feet are also so sore I think Steve might need to start carrying me...I wonder if they sell a Baby Bjorn in my size?
I'm just glad I have the weekend to recover and eat Thanksgiving food which I sure will heal me.
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