Note to myself, Susan thought, lying down on the bench in the dressing room and fighting to get her skirt fastened. Never. Go clothes shopping. On a full stomach. AGAIN.
The clothes at Fashonmoort were cute enough--and goodness knows, the Swedes made their clothes with budgets in mind --but the realization that's she'd almost certainly gone up a size was certainly dampening her day. Retail therapy didn't work that well when it was coupled with shock treatments, and she got one every time she looked into the mirror.
She finally managed to get the skirt fastened and pulled down her top. She'd picked an earth-toned ensemble; a pleated, chocalate-colored skirt paired with a form-fitting, creamy golden mocha jersey. On the rack, it had looked cute. In the mirror.
Great. I look like a damn cupcake.
She put her hands on her hips. She tried holding them awkwardly in front of her. Either way, there just was no hiding the chubby muffin top she was currently sporting. With a sigh, she struggled back out of the outfit and stood for a moment just staring at her reflection in her underwear. It was, sadly, a lot to take in.
Just give up and buy a pair of sweatpants already, she told herself. Come on, pack it it. Goodness knows you've been doing enough of that lately.
She struggled back into her own clothes--they didn't fit all that much better--and walked back out onto the sales floor, trying to pretend that she just wasn't interested in the clothes she discarded. Suddenly, she gasped and ducked behind a rack of clothes. She'd just seen somebody she recognized! It was--
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