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Thin.

Beautiful in the sort of polished, expensive way that probably requires a team. Her silver gown fits like it was poured onto her, and for half a second, I wonder how exactly she's representing tonight's environmental theme.

Recycled aluminum?

A very glamorous glacier?

Maybe she's a star.

Whatever. I don't care enough to ask.

She's holding a champagne flute and looking at me like I've personally offended her.

I glance behind myself.

Maybe she's talking to someone else.

Nope.

Lucky, lucky me.

“I'm sorry?”

Her eyes travel over me. Slowly. The same way the saleswoman’s did earlier.

Except this time? I don't shrink.

Maybe it's the dress.

Maybe it's the designer who spent an hour telling me my hips were magnificent.

Maybe it's Mitchell nearly swallowing his tongue when he saw me.

Or maybe I'm simply done allowing strangers to make their problems with my body into problems with myself.

Her lip curls.

“What are you, some kind of dare?”

Wow. Subtle.

I smile.

“Sorry, I'm going to need more context.”

She blinks.

“I said, are you some kind of dare?”

“Yes. I heard that part. I'm wondering why a grown woman at a charity gala is asking another grown woman if she's part of a fraternity prank.”

A couple standing nearby glances over.

Apparently, that's what she wanted.

Her smile widens, and she shifts slightly, raising her voice just enough to include them in whatever little performance she's decided to put on.

“I simply meant Mitchell has a particular type.”