I am in the land of plastic surgery; I must remember that in order not to be overwhelmed. It’s the little details that get one: the young girl in front of me today at the morning Rosh Hashanah services with a nose sharp enough to open letters with. And then there are the naturally endowed, like the topless beauties on the other side of the pool from me, cavorting in the shallows with each other and their champagne, to the delight of their men.
I am the chunkiest woman here, which is saying a lot. My stomach is a lot flatter than it has been, though. I am freshly pedicured and waxed. I am allowed here. Actually, the fact of my renting a room at this hotel allows me to be here, but nobody has been making gagging pantomimes in my direction either. Is this great or what?
white pebble 