My hips press out sideways against the stiff denim and it is the worst feeling in the world. Tight. Tight. Tight. Tight. These jeans fit again and I hate it. There were inches between my waist and the band. Saddlebags of fabric, not body. I was younger then, better. Now I am oversized. My mouth has two frames. Each time someone walks by I am holding this bagel. I set it down, pretend I can take it or leave it. The woman behind me says, How could anyone eat that much? She doesn’t know that she is talking about me.
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