The oily denim grazed her pale stretch marks, transforming Meg into a Victorian queen, crossed with a runway model. The fitting room mirror didn’t do her justice.
Meg squinted at the price tag: too much, it mocked. She fished inside her wallet, finding one dollar bill.
But price tags never stopped Meg before.
When she yanked, the price tag floated, landing facedown atop Meg’s old sweatpants. Stretch marks danced; Meg’s new cutoff shorts burst from the fitting room, frizzy curls trailing behind her like a cape.