Let There Be Dimmer Switches

Light can be terribly unfair. Every morning I spend a bunch of time (okay 5 minutes) getting all fresh and pretty in the mirror and no matter what effort I put in, how meticulously I apply my concealer, by the time I walk into the flourescent puke light of the bathroom at work I want to dive face first into a Botox needle and shake down the nearest Avon sales lady for everything she's got.
Similarly, certain store dressing rooms seem to have been designed by sadistic fags who like to send women screaming from their own reflections by either top or side lighting.
Top lighting casts shadows down, making noses look longer, accentuating lopsided boobage (all women are, and we will be until the day you can Photoshop reality), and turning tiny paunches into virtual pregnancies.
Side lighting, it's equally-evil friend, highlights texture. Texture on ass = cellulite.
Oh I know, "Pix you're so thin." Shut up. No one no matter how bird-boned and anorexic, no girl is spared her spoonful of "cottage cheese." Not even supermodels. Google the terms "Karolina Kurkova" and "cellulite," why don't you? You'll see what I mean.
Two noted offenders in the world of retail? H&M and, I hear, Victoria's Secret.
Just this summer I tried on a bikini in an H&M dressing room. I won't describe what I saw in the mirror, but let's just say I threw the bikini at the attendant's face as I stormed out.
Unfortunately for her face, I bet I wasn't the only one.
(Note: Special thanks to "she who shall remain anonymous" whose wedgied ass I photographed in college as an art project. And the top photo is me in bed circa fall 1999.)