| I love Fresh Market but always feel underdressed squeezing overpriced limes. Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Fiorucci, and all the ancient East Coast girls with their scarecrow limbs and Joker grins. Their silver fox husbands, rosy from tanning beds, steady their ladies who shuffle along in Miu Miu’s (not muumuus) and make me hide behind towers of handmade soaps and white pistachios. Who knew I’d still feel like the high school fat girl some thirty-odd years later? My Birkenstocks and my propensity for fig newtons? Still, whenever I’m face to face with a face that is no more real than a doll’s, I try to love my crinkles, my saggy chin skin. My body organic, with no preservatives. Copyright © 2015 by Denise Duhamel and Maureen Seaton. Used with permission of the authors. |
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