The thing about clothes is they don’t always feel like they look, so if you’re a prisoner of the way you feel, you can’t always be saved by the way you look. Call it The Anorexic’s Dilemma.
I did not bring my best attire when I came down from New York.
But the stuff I did bring did fit, at least it looked like it did.
At the synagogue, however, the way it felt made me interact uncomfortably with people; I feared I looked like I felt, which caused me to make certain that was so.
For week 2, I forced myself to remember to physically relax, to not give in to the fear. And they was diggin’ me, insofar as I can ascertain such things.
Then my sister pointed out that when I’d shaved my head, I’d left a big bushy spot behind the ear.
Well, she called it…
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