Dressed to Kill

During my final dress fitting, I have managed to lose too much weight. This meant she had to stuff my top with a ten inch foam core (not really that thick, but it might as well be that thick) for shapely purposes. Now here’s where I find gripe. I don’t have boobs and therefore why would I want them in a wedding dress? My friends and family know that I was born ill equipped, so why would it make a difference now. She already advised that I purchase a pair of those plastic silicon sucker cutlet boob swingdings! Now a foam cup? Err!

As I drive away in my Honda, the sick feeling of what “was” a beautiful dress has now grown into disgust. I never thought that fashion would make me nautious.

This is Shellie with both hands on the neck of the ceramic bowl tossing her cookies, back to you Bob in the studio.