You face an impossible task. Will the creamy caramel color of your hair be best complimented by the dainty floral headband or the pink bow clip? You decide on the clip, smiling as you pull back two strands from your temples and clip them at the back of your head. Half up half down styles really show off the neat edge of your jaw, your slim neck. Perfect.
It’s still early, not yet 8:00 AM, and you step gracefully into the kitchen, your thigh high socks slipping a bit off your slight thighs. You boil some water and select a bag of peppermint tea, your tiny fingers easily slipping into the box and picking one out. While waiting for your tea to steep, you smile out at the city below, waking up. In the park across the street, flowers bloom and a light breeze comes through your open window. A pure, fresh feeling washes over you. You’ve always liked that your apartment is so high in the air, that the breezes are always cool and you always see a sweeping, dewy view of the beautiful city. The clouds are still a tad pink from the dawn.
A loud rapping disturbs your quiet musing and you hurry to answer the door. Amelia is holding a huge ugly brown hand bag and is wearing sweatpants that are totally full from her trunk-like thighs. Her face is sweating and red and puffy, and her limp blond hair is tied back, making her face even more moon-like. Fighting down the faintest shudder, you lean forward and excitedly hug her and usher her inside. She has noticeable difficulty maneuvering her dump truck of a body through your small apartment, and she loudly voices her complaints.
“I like it,” you reply with a smile. “It’s cozy and there’s less to decorate. It’s hard sticking to a pink aesthetic!” you laugh. Amelia grunts in response— she doesn’t understand anything about style or coordination. You sip your tea and offer her something to eat, but she’s already started rifling through your cupboards.
“You don’t have ANY food!”
“I eat a lot of fruit,” you reply mildly. Fruit and sweet jam and drizzles of honey and vanilla yogurt. Good, light food.
Finally, after you dab on a drop of pink lip gloss, you head for the mall. It’s bustling and beautiful already, and you’re already getting stares. Six months ago, you’d never have dreamed of it, but being skinny and beautiful is INTERESTING to people. It makes people care about you. Amelia bared her teeth in what was perhaps supposed to be a flirty grin at a tall, rugged boy who’d been smirking at you in appraisal, and he hurriedly turned, looking mildly disgusted. “Boys have been on me all the time lately! Do my boobs look bigger to you? That could be it. They feel bigger.” They look like sacks of rotten meat, you think to yourself, then chastise yourself for such a nasty thought.
In the first store, you find a flowing floral skirt, an adorable pink sun dress, and white lacy shorts. A staff member chats with you as you browse. She’s thin, though not as thin as you, and very tan while you are pale and fragile. She has a nose piercing and an aura of smarts and capability. By the time you reach the lingerie section you’ve exchanged numbers. Amelia follows you, occasionally huffing and turning sideways to stumble between the clothing racks. She’s sweating, and the sound of her thighs slapping is like nails on a chalk board. “Nothing fits me here!” she harrumphs.
You sidle into a dressing room. Everything fits perfectly and you take a quick selfie in the skirt. When you emerge, beaming, feeling delicate and shivery from delight, you find your employee friend Mara and Amelia in an argument.
“You have to buy the dress— you ripped it!” says Mara in disbelief, holding up the shredded remains of a dress exactly like the one I’d just tried on.
“It’s not my fault this place doesn’t cater to my curves!” Amelia screams, and runs (or rather, waddles) out.
“I’ll buy it,” you pipe up tiredly, and Mara smiles at you in gratitude.
“I hate people like that,” she sighs. “Are you going to chase her?” I laugh— freed from the fat around my throat, my laugh is cute and crystalline.
“She can’t get very far, bless her. I’ll find her at the food court. I feel bad for her, really. I want to help but she can be so… abrasive.” Mara nods and rings you up.
When you step out of the store, the glossy bag over your shoulder practically dwarfing you, the red bearded man from earlier approaches you and bashfully introduces himself, apologizes for being so forward, and offers to carry your bags while you shop. Shocked by his gallantry, you raise your chin, smile, and ask him out. His palm is rough in yours as he accepts. You catch a glimpse of you two in one of the storefront windows— two beautiful people, one muscled and tanned, one small, light shimmering around her, all edges soft and supple except for the clear careful lines of her collar bones and ribs. People part to make way for you, but you are so small that you could’ve glided through raindrops.
