I definitely don’t want or need to talk about how much time I just spent in a dressing room while I was supposed to be shopping for OTHER PEOPLE  staring at myself in a Navy Blazer, wondering if I was finally the sort of woman who needs a Blazer, and wait am I finally a woman now? and I guess I am now a woman, and so maybe I need a Blazer for Meetings but I don’t really have that many Meetings, WHY DO I NOT HAVE MORE MEETINGS? I should have more of those, maybe I would if I had a Blazer, but no wait Blazers are a sign of togetherness and a writer must have a certain sort of aloof torture, an edge, hair in her eyes and something that might be paint or blood beneath one of her nails, a writer with a soul and things to say does not wear BLAZERS, am I too together, do I have nothing to say? What is that beneath my nail? Is it cookie dough? It’s cookie dough, so I should probably not get this Blazer, but instead just wear an apron around as pants. Distinctive, memorable.  THAT MAKES SENSE, RIGHT?

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