My confessions start when I was very young. It all started with the maroon polyester pantsuit.  Feeling ugly and uncomfortable, I remember sitting on the sidewalk refusing to go anywhere in that garish monster of an outfit, wishing I could scrape the itchy thing off like Job’s boils.  And then the persistent diet of fried eggs in the morning.  Is anything worse than the viscous undercooked egg white slipping down the throat?  It became clear to me that it was time to part ways.  I filled the old stained Samsonite suitcase with all my belongings and somehow managed to haul…