Living Large
I went out shopping for new clothes today. I'm to a point now where I can't 'pass' in any of my old clothes and I'm not yet thin enough to wear my old things from my skinny years. I didn't want to go crazy-after all, I plan to be this size-whatever size 'this' turns out to be, for only a short while. But, in the interest of wearing something other than my bath robe to work, I figured I'd go spend a little money. So I bought a paper last night, scoured all the ads, and mapped out my plan. Kohl's first, then Target, and then SteinMart if I had the energy/motivation/sufficient funds in my checking account.
I've been a 'tweener' in the pants area for a while now, though every week I sneak closer and closer to being a true Misses. I didn't know where I was in blouses or shirts, since I had a decent array of things in several sizes already, and it's not as awful when a shirt hangs on the shoulders as it is when pants hang on the hips. But I was ready to abandon the 'is she or isn't she a dyke' look of men's polo shirts and oxford cloth button-downs; clothes that I convinced myself I wanted, since I was nobody's 'girly-girl', but in fact I had to buy since there was nothing in the women's section that I would be caught dead wearing, except perhaps if it were donated to me by the Red Cross and I was living in a shelter.
Daring myself to be disappointed, I breezed past the Kohl's Women's section and went straight to Misses. Let me point out at this juncture that I don't know when Kohl's decided to chuck everything in their previously 'tasteful business casual' collection and replace it with a combination of Terrifying Granny-Bozo and Junior Miss Slut-Be-Mine. The junior stuff frightened me particularly, as it appears Kohl's has decided not only that any junior weighing more than 80 pounds should be institutionalized for having breasts and hips, but that the girls who shop in their store are actually so brain-damaged from the tight clothes they wear, that they actually think they look good in the Flashdance Goes Gidget "sportswear". Clearly, I am getting old.
I sprinted past the Daisy Fuentes gear with nary a second look. While we're talking about the 2nd generation Mistress Duke here, did anybody else see that article that touted Daisy Fuentes as groundbreaking? My God, is that the definition of a hero? A 2nd-rate VJ who touts miserable sweatshop-produced ZexyWear and whose largest asset is prominently displayed every time she bends over toward the camera for a photo-op? Seriously, I am getting old. And I'm PMSing. Lethal combination.
I sauntered on beyond the fur-collared, corset tightlacing wannabe sweaters, got lost briefly in Levi-land and finally found myself among labels I recognized. I found something remotely resembling appropriate work Ready-T0-Wear and scanned the horizon for a dressing room.
No such luck. Kohl's is in the middle of one of their Last Chance Biweekly MegaSales, and every dressing room overflowed with the sounds of clacking hangers, jerking zippers and the dissatisfied sighs of women holding court in front of 3-way mirrors. Figuring I would lose my momentum and my drive if I had to wait in line for a cubicle in ClackerLand, I simply threw the blouse on over my t-shirt and took a look.
I checked my reflection and then checked in with Howard, who was dutifully pushing the cart and doing a fine job of appearing interested in the proceedings. He frowned, reached over and plucked at the fabric. "It's too big in the shoulders," he mused. Then he frowned. "It's too big, Ames. What size is that?" I confessed an XL, the size I figured I was and he shook his head. "It's not right. It's hanging all wrong, and you'll be swimming in it in 5 pounds."
I wondered briefly when my WW buddy became a shoe-in for the next host on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, but then dashed off the thought in favor of finding the black number in a smaller size. Alas, said black number didn't have a size L counterpart, so off we went, digging through cable-knit henleys and Flower Power knits, whistling for anything Large. At last we found a royal blue blouse-a true business casual option with a button-down front, a wide collar that would not show too much decollette, and cuffs at the sleeves. I slipped it on, and before I could even ask, Howard smiled, and then he grinned. "It's perfect," he said. "Go take a look."
I looked. I checked the shoulders, I flexed my chest to see if the buttons would pull, and I shot the cuffs. It fit. Size L, and it fits. I'm a Misses blouse, and not even the largest size. I'm not XL anymore-in fact, I kinda missed that whole era. I'm an L. No more "extra" for me. I'm livin' large, and proud of it. It won't be long before I'm Proud Mary Medium.
204.75 pounds this morning, and all is well. And thank you, Howard, for being there, for helping me, and for every large smile.
A the L (!!!)
I've been a 'tweener' in the pants area for a while now, though every week I sneak closer and closer to being a true Misses. I didn't know where I was in blouses or shirts, since I had a decent array of things in several sizes already, and it's not as awful when a shirt hangs on the shoulders as it is when pants hang on the hips. But I was ready to abandon the 'is she or isn't she a dyke' look of men's polo shirts and oxford cloth button-downs; clothes that I convinced myself I wanted, since I was nobody's 'girly-girl', but in fact I had to buy since there was nothing in the women's section that I would be caught dead wearing, except perhaps if it were donated to me by the Red Cross and I was living in a shelter.
Daring myself to be disappointed, I breezed past the Kohl's Women's section and went straight to Misses. Let me point out at this juncture that I don't know when Kohl's decided to chuck everything in their previously 'tasteful business casual' collection and replace it with a combination of Terrifying Granny-Bozo and Junior Miss Slut-Be-Mine. The junior stuff frightened me particularly, as it appears Kohl's has decided not only that any junior weighing more than 80 pounds should be institutionalized for having breasts and hips, but that the girls who shop in their store are actually so brain-damaged from the tight clothes they wear, that they actually think they look good in the Flashdance Goes Gidget "sportswear". Clearly, I am getting old.
I sprinted past the Daisy Fuentes gear with nary a second look. While we're talking about the 2nd generation Mistress Duke here, did anybody else see that article that touted Daisy Fuentes as groundbreaking? My God, is that the definition of a hero? A 2nd-rate VJ who touts miserable sweatshop-produced ZexyWear and whose largest asset is prominently displayed every time she bends over toward the camera for a photo-op? Seriously, I am getting old. And I'm PMSing. Lethal combination.
I sauntered on beyond the fur-collared, corset tightlacing wannabe sweaters, got lost briefly in Levi-land and finally found myself among labels I recognized. I found something remotely resembling appropriate work Ready-T0-Wear and scanned the horizon for a dressing room.
No such luck. Kohl's is in the middle of one of their Last Chance Biweekly MegaSales, and every dressing room overflowed with the sounds of clacking hangers, jerking zippers and the dissatisfied sighs of women holding court in front of 3-way mirrors. Figuring I would lose my momentum and my drive if I had to wait in line for a cubicle in ClackerLand, I simply threw the blouse on over my t-shirt and took a look.
I checked my reflection and then checked in with Howard, who was dutifully pushing the cart and doing a fine job of appearing interested in the proceedings. He frowned, reached over and plucked at the fabric. "It's too big in the shoulders," he mused. Then he frowned. "It's too big, Ames. What size is that?" I confessed an XL, the size I figured I was and he shook his head. "It's not right. It's hanging all wrong, and you'll be swimming in it in 5 pounds."
I wondered briefly when my WW buddy became a shoe-in for the next host on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, but then dashed off the thought in favor of finding the black number in a smaller size. Alas, said black number didn't have a size L counterpart, so off we went, digging through cable-knit henleys and Flower Power knits, whistling for anything Large. At last we found a royal blue blouse-a true business casual option with a button-down front, a wide collar that would not show too much decollette, and cuffs at the sleeves. I slipped it on, and before I could even ask, Howard smiled, and then he grinned. "It's perfect," he said. "Go take a look."
I looked. I checked the shoulders, I flexed my chest to see if the buttons would pull, and I shot the cuffs. It fit. Size L, and it fits. I'm a Misses blouse, and not even the largest size. I'm not XL anymore-in fact, I kinda missed that whole era. I'm an L. No more "extra" for me. I'm livin' large, and proud of it. It won't be long before I'm Proud Mary Medium.
204.75 pounds this morning, and all is well. And thank you, Howard, for being there, for helping me, and for every large smile.
A the L (!!!)
posted by Former Fat Girl Gone Skinny | 7:25 PM
1 Comments:
1) No Queer Eye for me, thank you very much.
2) You look great in your new blouses.
3) Who says that Daisy Fuentes isn't groundbreaking? She blazes trails, I tell you!
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