For the next half hour, I try on various pieces from my closet and Ash helps me decide whether to keep them. Or he tries. He doesn’t put a single thing in the throwaway pile. I draw the line at an old tube top that is so tight across my chest it hurts my boobs. “No way. It barely fits anymore. I was a few sizes smaller then.” I pull at the top. “From what I can tell, it fits perfectly.” I laugh. “You’re no help.” “I can’t help it if everything you put on looks good.” “You’re full of crap.” “Nope. Straight facts. You’re a ten. Own it.”
