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A conversation

This morning, I opened the front door to a package of clothes I had ordered via internet a week and a half ago. I’ve given up shopping in the store. Something about the atmosphere causes me to Lose My Shit over the clothes I try on, because I have an oddly shaped body and a low self esteem. They don’t make clothes for girls with big boobs, wide hips, and a flat ass. It makes for a lot of self loathing and vaguely suicidal thoughts when trying on clothes. I also won’t pay a lot, which explains my bad fashion sense.

“What’s that? Your camera?” I had ordered a 1907 Kodak Brownie 2A, and was anticipating its arrival without any dignity whatsoever.

“No, these are the clothes I ordered that UPS never bothered to update the tracking on.”

“Ah.”

“Their tracking sucks. They told me when it left, and they tell me when it arrives. Who the hell knows where it goes in between.”

“Their billing sucks too, which is why I switched carriers.”

“Interesting. Well, I suppose I should go try these on.”

“Should I call 911 and get them over here so you don’t kill yourself?”

My husband, he knows me so well. “No, but you might want to keep them on standby, just in case.”