At least you look good, I add. In honor of getting my shit together, I picked out my best outfit, hoping the pop of color and dash of accessories would boost my mood. You don’t need to seek everyone’s attention all the time; that old comment made by Oliver’s mother about my clothing rears its ugly, unwelcome head. I nearly twist my ankle at the memory. One day I hope you feel comfortable enough in your own skin to stop covering it up, she said before handing me a bottle of anti-aging cream. You should stop—
