What is it about fitting rooms that turns your reflection into a monster? The lights? The mirrors? Both?
I fucking hate them. And those 3 way mirrors? They can fuck off the most. Nobody wants to see their dimpled arse clinging on for dear life in a pair of ill fitting pants. The lights are always awful too.
I’m off to the races tomorrow so I made a mercy dash to Myer for some outfits and a fascinator. MEGA FAIL. Without sounding up my own arse, I don’t have a bad figure. It’s not what it used to be and I’m a little on the chubster side from Fiji, but I am fairly happy with my lot. It certainly doesn’t warrant spending time complaining. But I seem to only look hideous inside the 4 walls of a fitting room. And if those walls could talk they would scream hysterically.
Swimsuits can bite me too. I’ve talked about the post partum shopping trip to buy swimwear before, and I’m sorry to say things have not improved.
Here are a few visual treats for you which come vanity free, because we’ve all bloody been here.
Dress that cannot be worn with a bra and accentuates all back fat and bingo wings? Fuck you.
Seafolly? Fuck You. It’s a no from me. Rear view needed a counsellor on standby. Side vag is in, how about under boob??
Let me tell you all this was a size 14 and I am usually a size 10-12. Maybe if I had a belly chain I would magically turn into Gigi Hadid. Or not. Most likely not. My cup definitely runneth over and not in a good way….
Yeah. I’m deflated. Fitting rooms, suck my dick.