Don’t Mess With the Dress
For most of the summer, MTM and I have been on a
starvation diet journey to a new lifestyle. Dr Pierre Dukan has become our beacon for whatever goes in our gaping, deprived traps. As a result of our tortuous journey dedication, we are each down more than twenty pounds.
I can’t remember when I was so
Back in June, I made a decision, to give me something to look forward to at the end of all this. When I reached my target weight, I thought it would be great to reward myself with an obscenely expensive piece of clothing. Something so pricey that it would be impossible to fatten up again. I wanted it to burn laser beams of guilt from the bowels of my closet to wherever I sat, sneaking a
lone french fry.
Armed with the shopping wonder of the internet, I set out to compile my possibilities. More motivation, you know, imagining myself swathed in one of the preposterous, probably-polyester-or-rayon creations that some starlet might’ve worn on the red carpet.
My Pinterest board “I Would So Wear It” became my wish list, my happy place to save all of my to-die-for items. Only, I deplore shopping. It’s REALLY boring. If I don’t see something in five seconds that catches my attention, I’m ready to move on. And, the very first thing to catch my attention was this:
Only, my feet have not changed size or shape. I could probably gain back the weight and then some, and these shoes would still fit. Meaning I could spend the money, eat french fries without guilt, and wear an amazing pair of *uck-me shoes. Nobody would want to *uck me. Cottage cheese thighs and stomach are not attractive looks.
I know shoes were not part of the deal I made with myself. So. In the coming days, I am going to pen a series on the various looks I considered. Maybe you can help me make the right choice, because well, THIS isn’t a good look, either.