But on a Tuesday morning in a high-end department store in Rome, Eleanor stood in front of a three-way mirror wearing a pair of dark indigo trousers that fit her perfectly.
Eleanor was sixty-two, and she had spent forty of those years under the impression that her body was a project to be managed, minimized, or apologized for. She had done the diets of the eighties, the low-fat craze of the nineties, and the pilates-induced discipline of the two-thousands. mature womans booty
The young shop assistant hovered nearby, holding a different size. "The fit is... molto bella ," the girl said, and for once, she wasn't just trying to make a sale. She was looking at the way the fabric draped over Eleanor’s hips with a kind of quiet envy. But on a Tuesday morning in a high-end