When I was a kid, you bought a tub of margarine, removed the lid and there it was. There wasn’t a tamper-proof seal on anything. Not on food. Not on medicines. But then, in 1982, a murderer tampered with some packages of painkiller, and now we have a new normal — tamper-proof seals on everything — that none of us even thinks about anymore.
WTF. I didn’t know how else to start this, to be honest. In January and February, I was really feeling like things were coming together, like the seeds I had planted and nourished and cared for were all of a sudden blooming. And then March said to the world NOT SO FAST.
You know you have a cute little red dress somewhere, and it would be absolutely perfect for the occasion. It’s … somewhere. You try to shove the yellow sundress and the black pair of pants that are two sizes too small out of the way. No, you don’t want the green sweatshirt. No, not the polka-dotted jumpsuit. Somewhere in this &*$ing closet, there is a red dress! But where?
To the women whose depression makes it hard for them to love themselves: I’m talking to you. I understand what you are going through.