I was talking to a friend recently about the things we tolerate. Not necessarily significant things but everyday, maybe tiny things that add up to a lot of frustration or discomfort or itchy feelings.
Which is how I ended up in a dressing room full of jeans and self-loathing today. I don’t own a pair of jeans I like. I own some that sorta fit. I own some that really don’t fit but I still insist on sausaging myself into, circulation be damned, because apparently that’s what I’ll tolerate.
I found two pairs of jeans that are not the worst but at least they fit. I’m calling it a win. Next up? Bras.