My Apologies. To You. And the Duggars.

I am at Macy's. I am trying on shirts. Actually, I am trying on blouses, which are different than shirts because they are more expensive and blouses usually involve buttons or at the very least, ruffles.

Note: I like to try on blouses because it simplifies the whole hair issue. Just trying on one shirt and pushing the giant head through the neckhole signifies the end of the good hair day, yes.

I try on a flouncy pink blouse that is much too large through the bosom. Most blouses are too large through my bosom. I try on a zebra pattern blouse. I admire the way that the stripes stretch ever so slightly over the bosom, accentuating my curves. Sort of, yes. The blouse has ruffles and ties and buttons. Too much.

Oooh. I like this black and white blouse. I am imagining a bright yellow necklace at the, well, neckline. I step out of my dressing cubicle to check my view in the three-way mirror.

Note: What am I thinking?

I stop in my tracks. I am mortified. Are you kidding me?

Note: Are you kidding me?

I feel that I must apologize too anyone and everyone who has ever walked behind me in a mall, office building, dark alley. Anywhere, actually.

My bum! Oh my. My bum! It is flat, yes, I know. But my jeans don't stay up quite on my hips and the resulting image in the mirror is frightening, yes. Droopy.

Note: My bum!

I quickly hoist up my jeans. Too high, probably. I will likely end up with some sort of skid marks on my hips. Or bruises. Or calluses, even. From the constant upward tugging. Because I must stop the droop.

From now on, it's skirts for me. Skirts do not envelope the droop.

Note: Those Duggars had it figured out all along, after all.

Heck, yes!