A few years back, I found myself in the back of a Banana Republic, at the clearance rack (naturally) on the brink of a panic attack.

Somehow I went from casually sifting to frantically shoving wool pencil skirts, all sizes 00-2. However, this frantic fit was not brought on by the usual battle of the curvy girl meets tiny clothing, no, it was as simple as the question “How did I get here?” Not in the existential way I asked myself at 22 after recreational drug use, but in a very literal HOW DID I GET HERE?’  HERE: WOOL PENCILSKIRT; I live in Florida. HERE: BANANA; I don’t ever shop here. HERE: I AM SHOPPING FOR WORK CLOTHES.

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