In my husband's mind, I am a size zero. I don't know if this is due to some kind of weird body dysmorphia thingy, (that is, if you can have body dysmorphia for other people?) or if because he is a lot bigger than me but he thinks I am (and refers to me on occasion as) a "wee thing."
While extremely flattering, it is also very frustrating, as my closet is now home to all kinds of junior- sized, teeny tiny items of clothing, that my hubby (with the best of intentions) has gone out of his way, mind you, to purchase for me. 'Barbie- doll' clothes I call them, these exquisite yet tiny jeans, dresses that come only up to my hip bone and more recently, this box of 'Juicy couture' underwear.
We will leave the discussion of whether a 30- something- year- old -mother- of- two has any business wearing 'day of the week' panties (or ANYTHING by Juicy for that matter) for another day. Let us focus for a mo', on the fact that the underwear can barely fit over my wrist, much less my bum. Sigh. I got your 'Juicy' right here, babe.
The Bootylicious, pp
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