when good butts go bad – a tale of undeniable truth

So I’m unpacking a huge amount of clothes and attempting to show a level of sensibility that is most often eclipsed by a dominant packrat gene. I happen upon a really cute black denim skirt -¬†it’s Mossimo, for the Target shoppers out there -¬†and low and behold, it fits again after a couple of years dutifully waiting for my ass to shrink. I tried it on, modelled in the full-length mirror, marvelled at the cut which is fitted like a great pair of jeans yet flares a bit into a flirty, pleated bit that halts an inch or two above the knee. The denim is modern without being trendy. I wonder out loud if I’ve ever worn this adorable skirt since moving to the UK. Neil is unsure; I am unsure. I twirl once more in front of the mirror and imagine what sort of top and shoes I’ll wear with it, and it is then that I find a slip of paper in the front pocket.

It’s a receipt. It’s from a roadtrip in March of 2005. It’s for lunch…

Still water, a Ribena, two orders of pizza and chips.

Gee, with a healthy eating regime like that, how on earth did I outgrow this skirt? 😉

(For the record, I still eat pizza. I just eat less and exercise more. I just found the receipt really amusing this morning.)

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