A Bitter Pill
Patricia glared in annoyance at the frumpy reflection glaring back from her full-length mirror. Who are you and what have you done with my body? she mocked. Today was her 60th birthday, and her mood was turning sour. Dismayed at her sagging figure, Patricia mourned her youth. Gone were the lacy ‘barely there’ panties and sexy demi bras. Nowadays, she squeezed her rolls and dimples into spandex briefs and underwire that poked and pinched but did little to lift her drooping cleavage. Maybe Stanley can invent a bra with a built-in wooden shelf. She laughed sardonically at the vision. Aging could certainly be a bitter pill to swallow, and today, Patricia felt as though she was choking on hers.
Stanley would arrive soon. She tried on dress after dress and one by one they pooled into a heap at her feet. Too tight. Too short. This one amplified her heavy chest and the next one suctioned to her ample backside. Finally, peeved, and glistening with perspiration, Patricia sighed, gave her damp armpits the sniff test, and reached for the one dress she was comfortable in; a shapeless black frock with full sleeves and a modest neckline. It was not flattering, but, she chided, Stanley liked her just as she was.
A moment later Stanley’s car squealed into her driveway, rock music thumping through his open window. Patricia raised an eyebrow at the racket, then hurried to put on lipstick. It was sweet of him to take her out for her birthday. She would do her best to smile, even if she had to paint it on.
