I would be on that "Stars: They're just like us" page on the regular, and not because I was adorably shopping with my perfectly-behaved children.
  1. Yesterday: Wake up, get ready, head to work.
    Wearing cute "yay it's CBS Upfronts day so I wanna look festive" red dress with a black belt.
  2. Sit at desk, make a little sandwich from materials in adorable little under-desk fridge, eat while watching the latest promo reel.
    Chew, swallow, repeat.
  3. Breathe out. Hear a pop. Realize that I have BROKEN MY BELT IN HALF.
    Yes. The forcefulness of my exhale combined with the last bite of mini-sandwich was enough to snap my belt clean off.
  4. Laugh, because what can you do. I mean, I already have total fucking body dysmorphia, it's not like this makes it any worse.
    It doesn't make it better, but it's oddly validating in an insane and depressing way.
  5. Tell my assistant I just realized I left something at home and I'll be right back (before my 10am meeting), then scurry away before he can ask what.
    Or clock that my dress is hanging on me like a potato sack and not the chic cinched number I walked in with.
  6. Drive home, feeling happy for the millionth time that I live so close to the lot.
    Extra thanks to @bonifaceviii for allowing us to live so close to my office. He is a hero.
  7. Rush in, put on a new, hopefully sturdier, belt, rush out.
    Steve was home working on his dissertation and I don't think he even realized I was there.
  8. Drive back to the lot, rushing because I have that meeting.
    Get out of car, close door, head towards building.
  9. Make eye contact with the security guard standing outside.
    And realize that I have completely flashed him while inelegantly exiting my car.
  10. "At least she wasn't too fat for her underwear!"
    ...is what I imagine the snarky bloggers would write under the ensuing photo. You know, if I were a bold-faced name. Thank goodness I'm not.