Due to complete engrossment in her glamorous life as a soon-to-be divorcee, have been spared excessive contact with the UMF. That is, until was enjoying peaceful lunch break from eerily quiet, and still indecisive, workplace. Seems UMF is obsessed with being thin and making certain the world knows of her current size-six status.
UMF: I'm going to wear that black dress I bought in Europe. I wore it to a funeral yesterday. It was a nice funeral and I looked great.
H: And that's what's important.
UMF: (clearly not sensing sarcasm) Yes, it is. The dress is really loose on me now.
H: Get it tailored. Am not playing your game.
UMF: Or, I could do it, but it fits nice. It was too tight when I bought it.
H: You just said it's really loose. (In other words, am sensing you patting yourself on the back. And, in passive-aggressive style learned at your knee, refuse to entertain such behavior.) Really, loose is almost as bad as tight, in the flattering department.
UMF: Yeah, but not too loose. Just not form-fitting. Can't see my panty line any more!
H: Oh dear GOD, the visual.
UMF: I also bought a nice black wool sweater to wear with it. So I wore those with a pearl choker. I was elegant.
H: mmmmm. Am certain the dead guy appreciated your attention to detail.
Almost feels like am watching small child in her Sunday-Best spin in front of mirror, pleading, "Tell me I'm pretty. Tell me I'm a princess!"
Tell me now that I'm divorced, all the men will want me! Sure, I have visible panty line... but I'm hip! I do yoga! Tell me I'm elegant!
Mmm hmm. Elegant and Mother of the Year. How do you do it?