One hundred and sixty-nine centimetres.

I hate my size - all five feet and seven inches of me. Not because I have self-image problems or anything, but because well fitting clothes are impossible to find.

Yesterday, like most other Saturdays in this increasingly consumerist world, I went clothes shopping. Yesterday, however, I came home empty handed. Not one thing in my size anywhere. Extra smalls are a rare find and a lot of the time, smalls just seem to hang off me. It could be that the Howardesque 'aspirational' urges within me weren't satisfied - heaven forbid, I came home without spending a single cent - but nonetheless I'm feeling quite dejected by the whole experience.

And the shitty thing is that I can't do anything about it. I mean, it's not like I can go on a diet to get taller. I suppose I could work out to fill those shirts out better. But I don't have the time nor the money and it all seems awfully vain of me anyway.


Listening to:
Title: Wish You Were Here
Artist: Wyclef Jean
Album/station: The Ecleftic: 2 Sides II a Book (2000)
Length: 4.06