(no subject)
Who: Isabel vs. The Dress That Is Her Size But Isn't
What: Dressfight!
When: Before the New Year's Eve Party
Where: Hotel room
Why: Because Rusty is mean spirited.
It was a cute gesture on his part.
Wait, no, that was wrong. It wasn't a cute gesture. It was presumptuous. For Rusty to automatically assume that she wouldn't have time to pack meant he thought he knew her well enough to have a suitcase sitting there for her once she'd gotten off the plane.
He thought she'd be so wrapped up in telling everyone at work she'd be going to Chicago that she wouldn't be able to bring anything. He thought, but he did not know.
She had a suitcase of her own, thank you ever so much. Complete with clothes that she liked, even though she'd had to throw them together in the space of a half an hour. Still, they were hers. And not bought by her ex husband. That was what mattered.
As she entered her hotel room, carrying both suitcases, Isabel assured herself that it was irritating and not cute that he'd just assume that. That he set up everything for her, absolutely how she liked it. This was not cute at all.
It was also not cute, she thought as she opened the suitcase, that he still had damnably impeccable taste when it came to what to buy her.
"I can't believe him." She muttered as she went through the clothes anyway. She mentally kicked herself for liking them. Isabel didn't want to like them, because that meant she'd like him for buying them. And she was dead set on keeping a certain degree of something that resembled dignity when it came to him.
That meant not falling head over heels like she had the first time. That meant nothing short of neutral or annoyed.
But still, these were great clothes...
Alright, she'd wear one of these, and then say nothing about it, no matter how smug he looked over it. And if asked, she would lie, and she would say that she hadn't had time to pack and that this was all she had. But she wouldn't look happy about it, damn it.
There, it was settled.
Isabel finally picked out a blue one, and set about getting it on to see how it looked.
The first thing that she noticed was that it was a bit tight, especially around her hips. She chalked it up to an odd cut, it wasn't bad.
The second thing she noticed, was that the zipper was not coming up more than an inch at best.
Isabel paused, and then tried pulling it up again. Nothing. It wasn't stuck, it was just not moving because of her. But this was her size, she'd checked the tag. Strange.
Frowning, she started getting out of the dress. Almost losing her balance as it clung to one leg and she got tangled, she hopped to the side and nearly fell over as she tried to free herself.
After a few hops to the other side, and catching herself on the wall, she managed to get free. Sighing, exasperated, she tried the zipper. It went up fine, all the way to the top.
"What..." She frowned again, and put the dress back on, then attempted the zipper once more. It wasn't working. "Oh, you can't be serious." She turned in the mirror and tried to look at her back to see what the problem was.
There wasn't a problem.
Isabel made an aggravated noise and pulled a bit harder on the zipper. It resisted. She winced and sucked in a breath, in spite of her being absolutely sure she had not gained any weight, had actually lost weight, and that extra peice of cheesecake yesterday couldn't possibly have made her go up a whole...
It still wasn't working.
She rolled her eyes, and tried to calm down. "Stupid dress." She muttered, and insistently pulled on the zipper as hard as she could.
When Isabel heard the rip, she stopped cold.
She was fairly sure her heart stopped for a second there as well, but not enough to give that any foundation, so she didn't think on it too long.
"... No." She shook her head, in denial. "No, no, it didn't." She got out of the dress quickly, and checked for a rip.
Not just 'a' rip as it turned out, but a large rip.
"Oh my God, are you kidding me?" She stared at it in disbelief, and suddenly compulsively wanted to weigh herself. She stuffed the thought away, feeling superficial and paranoid and stupid.
Isabel had always prided herself on being comfortable with how she looked, but that was because she made sure she never looked bad. She'd always been a touch insecure when you really got down to it, even though she'd never admit to it.
Dropping the dress then, she immediately got into one of the dresses she'd brought with her. It fit fine. She looked at herself in the mirror for a long minute, and tried to figure out what the problem was. Didn't look like there was anything. She didn't feel like she'd gone up a size.
"... I'll try something else." She got out of her dress, and tried on a red one.
The fit was perfect. And it was the same size as the evil blue one.
"Okay Isabel," She muttered as she looked at herself in the mirror. "You're fine. You'll weigh yourself later. It's probably just a bad cut. No problem." And with that finalized inside her head, despite the nagging paranoia in the back of her mind, she got ready for the party and started out.
At the door, she stopped, and looked back. Isabel went back and grabbed the blue dress, and then went down to the hotel lobby, walking to the desk.
"Excuse me." She smiled to the man behind the desk calmly, and held up the dress. "Do you have an incinerator you can drop this in?"
What: Dressfight!
When: Before the New Year's Eve Party
Where: Hotel room
Why: Because Rusty is mean spirited.
It was a cute gesture on his part.
Wait, no, that was wrong. It wasn't a cute gesture. It was presumptuous. For Rusty to automatically assume that she wouldn't have time to pack meant he thought he knew her well enough to have a suitcase sitting there for her once she'd gotten off the plane.
He thought she'd be so wrapped up in telling everyone at work she'd be going to Chicago that she wouldn't be able to bring anything. He thought, but he did not know.
She had a suitcase of her own, thank you ever so much. Complete with clothes that she liked, even though she'd had to throw them together in the space of a half an hour. Still, they were hers. And not bought by her ex husband. That was what mattered.
As she entered her hotel room, carrying both suitcases, Isabel assured herself that it was irritating and not cute that he'd just assume that. That he set up everything for her, absolutely how she liked it. This was not cute at all.
It was also not cute, she thought as she opened the suitcase, that he still had damnably impeccable taste when it came to what to buy her.
"I can't believe him." She muttered as she went through the clothes anyway. She mentally kicked herself for liking them. Isabel didn't want to like them, because that meant she'd like him for buying them. And she was dead set on keeping a certain degree of something that resembled dignity when it came to him.
That meant not falling head over heels like she had the first time. That meant nothing short of neutral or annoyed.
But still, these were great clothes...
Alright, she'd wear one of these, and then say nothing about it, no matter how smug he looked over it. And if asked, she would lie, and she would say that she hadn't had time to pack and that this was all she had. But she wouldn't look happy about it, damn it.
There, it was settled.
Isabel finally picked out a blue one, and set about getting it on to see how it looked.
The first thing that she noticed was that it was a bit tight, especially around her hips. She chalked it up to an odd cut, it wasn't bad.
The second thing she noticed, was that the zipper was not coming up more than an inch at best.
Isabel paused, and then tried pulling it up again. Nothing. It wasn't stuck, it was just not moving because of her. But this was her size, she'd checked the tag. Strange.
Frowning, she started getting out of the dress. Almost losing her balance as it clung to one leg and she got tangled, she hopped to the side and nearly fell over as she tried to free herself.
After a few hops to the other side, and catching herself on the wall, she managed to get free. Sighing, exasperated, she tried the zipper. It went up fine, all the way to the top.
"What..." She frowned again, and put the dress back on, then attempted the zipper once more. It wasn't working. "Oh, you can't be serious." She turned in the mirror and tried to look at her back to see what the problem was.
There wasn't a problem.
Isabel made an aggravated noise and pulled a bit harder on the zipper. It resisted. She winced and sucked in a breath, in spite of her being absolutely sure she had not gained any weight, had actually lost weight, and that extra peice of cheesecake yesterday couldn't possibly have made her go up a whole...
It still wasn't working.
She rolled her eyes, and tried to calm down. "Stupid dress." She muttered, and insistently pulled on the zipper as hard as she could.
When Isabel heard the rip, she stopped cold.
She was fairly sure her heart stopped for a second there as well, but not enough to give that any foundation, so she didn't think on it too long.
"... No." She shook her head, in denial. "No, no, it didn't." She got out of the dress quickly, and checked for a rip.
Not just 'a' rip as it turned out, but a large rip.
"Oh my God, are you kidding me?" She stared at it in disbelief, and suddenly compulsively wanted to weigh herself. She stuffed the thought away, feeling superficial and paranoid and stupid.
Isabel had always prided herself on being comfortable with how she looked, but that was because she made sure she never looked bad. She'd always been a touch insecure when you really got down to it, even though she'd never admit to it.
Dropping the dress then, she immediately got into one of the dresses she'd brought with her. It fit fine. She looked at herself in the mirror for a long minute, and tried to figure out what the problem was. Didn't look like there was anything. She didn't feel like she'd gone up a size.
"... I'll try something else." She got out of her dress, and tried on a red one.
The fit was perfect. And it was the same size as the evil blue one.
"Okay Isabel," She muttered as she looked at herself in the mirror. "You're fine. You'll weigh yourself later. It's probably just a bad cut. No problem." And with that finalized inside her head, despite the nagging paranoia in the back of her mind, she got ready for the party and started out.
At the door, she stopped, and looked back. Isabel went back and grabbed the blue dress, and then went down to the hotel lobby, walking to the desk.
"Excuse me." She smiled to the man behind the desk calmly, and held up the dress. "Do you have an incinerator you can drop this in?"