Last week I was packing for a business trip and I pulled out a couple of skirts? The first skirt was a slick black number (with an elastic waistband) that looked damned good just folded in the suitcase. The second skirt was a stiffish cream linen with a no-stretch waistband that was tailored by the Devil himself.
I held up the Skirt From Hell and wondered who else was going to wear it with me. The no-stretch waistband was twice as wide as the skirt I just packed. It was vast, for Buddha’s sake…the damn thing would fall right off. So I tried it on.
And it fit perfectly.
And so I cried.
I was already crying, so I figured I’d try on the first skirt. It was half as wide, for Buddha’s sake. The damn thing wouldn’t make it past my knees. I tried it on, anyway.
And it fit perfectly.
And I stopped crying.
I sniffed and snuffled and whispered to it:
Liar.
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