She feels fat, tired, badly dressed, and utterly inadequate in the presence of a perfect hostess. But wait, there's a twist.
I am standing in front of my closet, searching for something that fits. I have worn nothing but sweatpants and my husband's old shirts in the year since our second son was born. But tonight that won't do. Tonight we're going to a dinner party.

I used to like dinner parties. I used to like them for the reasons I am dreading the one tonight: the chance to dress up (not that I ever felt beautiful, but at least I didn't feel like the beast), the chance to get to know other people (as a journalist, chatting was easy), the chance for them to get to know me (I was an associate producer at 60 Minutes, which prompted people to say something flattering when they heard this). But that was a very long time ago.


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