The dressing room was barely big enough for Josh to turn around in. He stood in front of the mirror, wrestling with a navy blazer that clung to his shoulders like shrink wrap. The tag said XXL. The fit said “try again.”

“It’s the cut,” he muttered, tugging at the sleeves. “They make these for twigs. British twigs. With no organs.”

He turned sideways, frowned, and tried to button the front. No chance.

“I swear I’ve lost weight. Or maybe just redistributed it. Whatever.”

Josh let out a frustrated grunt, peeling the jacket off like it was choking him.

“Great. Now I get to show up looking like a sweaty action figure in business casual. First date material, right?”

He sighed, tossed the blazer onto the bench, and stared at his reflection like it owed him an apology.