The Second Stage of Hell--Victoria's Secret

Okay, I suppose the place is great if you're a size -3 but for those of us who are skinny challenged? Not so much. Not for me, anyways. I don't like seeing the skinny itty-bitty mannequins in the windows, wearing nothing but a blank expression and some lace thingies that can't even be described as underwear. And for us poor people who can't afford it, it sucks pretty bad. Seven bucks for a pair of underwear? I get a packet of ten for the same amount. And, okay, they're ugly and bulky and only come in black, beige, and white, but you get the idea. I'm not exactly huge--I'm a size 9 or ten--but there's not much that will fit me there. And when I walk in I don't want to be scoffed at because I'm not skinny or gorgeous. I used to be an anorexic, but I left that road long ago. Sometimes, though, when I see those models in the magazines, I want to go back to throwing up every meal. I won't, I refuse to subject myself to that amount of mental and emotional abuse again, but I wish I was tucked and toned like the rest of them. But with, you know, black ripped skinny jeans and combat boots instead of daisy dukes and stripper heels. I work out and diet and do all that stuff, and most of the time I'm completely comfortable in my skin. I'm plain without my makeup and alternative clothes, but that only helps me blend in when I want to be invisible. I have a boyfriend--well, maybe, but that's a whole other story--and maybe they weren't all exactly... um, dependable but they liked the way I looked in a black pleated skirt and lace up knee boots. I'll always be on the good side of average, and that's okay, most of the time. But sometimes, what I would give to be blond and busty, instead of light brown haired and clumsy.