It finally occurred to me, where I could buy a non-Chico’s dress: Antrhopologie. I never shop there because it’s a little pricey and everything is so feminine and wispy but they do sell pretty dresses in a decent size range that aren’t ridiculously short, flimsy or slinky. I wouldn’t normally spend $178 on a simple cotton party-picnic frock, but whatever, it’s my birthday tomorrow (I was also banking a bit on the $200 I usually get for my birthday, which happened to be slashed in half this year, economy, family members who don’t work by choice, whatever again, not complaining just wondering if I should be belt-tightening, myself).
I also bought myself three slices of jamon Iberico that cost $3.18 per wispy piece. Now, that’s a splurge.
For shits and giggles I also tried on a freaking romper at Antrhopologie. If an item of clothing is unflattering on a model (not the mannequin–click on the photo of a woman wearing the thing) there’s little hope of it rectifying itself on a regular human being. The poofy high-waisted shorts made me look like I was wearing a diaper while being five-months pregnant. Two fetishes in one. At the very least, it gave something else to worry about other than cankles, the body blight so important The Wall Street Journal is covering it.