Sunday, April 11, 2010
As usual, I waited until the last minute to notice I went from Forever 21 to Forever 6x in just one winter. I don’t get it. I look in the same damn mirror for 12 months and nothing “looks” different. I’d still “do” me…according to my mirror. However, I have come to realize that mirror is a lying little bastard. My closet is the only truthful functioning thing in the house. When I want to wear my skinny jeans it quietly reminds me, “that’s not in the cards” and I swiftly move to the “big girl” section. Don’t even pretend you don’t have a “big girl” section in your closet. Why throw out the size 22 ‘s when the next crisis is right around the corner? Personally, I can’t wait to get back in my not so biggie jeans. I hate the fat ones. The waist comes up to my throat and I feel like a fat nerd. But they support all the junk in my trunk and that’s no small feat. So my plan is as follows: Find someone with Swine Flu and or HIV and consummate the union. That is the only 1.5 month diet plan guaranteed to make me Forever size 2….until fall.
As much as I hate buying “temporary fat clothes”…my 1985 size 26 jeans just weren’t gettin it. There’s nothing worse than seeing people you know whilst shopping and holding 8 sizes larger than their worst day. When caught, I like to pretend I grabbed the wrong size….in everything. I’m known to do a little, ” Oh my Gosh I grabbed the wrong size. Silly me.” Or, when caught with too many items, “Yeah, all the size 0’s were gone so I thought I’d try on the 24’s and order the 0’s online.” Deceptive yet effective. Then we move on to my next issue. If the clothing rack dictates a size 24, why does the fitting room mirror make me look like Angelina Jolie? F’n mirrors again! I’d suggest it was my eye sight, but I already wear contacts strong enough to make Stevie Wonder see things clearly. The way they make these sizes today (sound like my mother in the 80’s)….you put your leg in what feels like a tarp, only to be strangled at the thighs with enough room to throw quarters down your ass! Now there’s a visual. Here’s a clue Mr./Mrs. designer persons…when someone is a 26….you don’t need to call them skinny jeans and cut them for supersized fit models! Grab you a beach ball and start shaping! Gheez.
So as you can imagine, bikini shopping is impossible. Where to put it all? I refuse to wear onesies or tankinies. That would make me fat. (no disrespect to those who are thin and wear them…I just hate you is all…except you Turtle…cause you look great in yours!). Thongs are out so that leaves alota skin and a little material. It’s funny…no matter how big I get….big girl rocks a bikini! Mostly bcs my friends have been trained to tell me I look great. I didn’t train them…they just do it. They must be in cahoots with my mirror. Enablers at their finest. My favorite amongst the offenders, my mother of course. Her signature line, “You don’t look that bad.” Thanks mother…that’s typically what they tell people when they’ve been malled by a bear or hit by a bus. A real compliment I’m sure. She’s about to visit. If you are reading this Mother, I know I’m fat so could you maybe say, “How’s my big fat daughter? Dad and I almost didn’t recognize you since you gained back all the weight.” That right there should be enough for me to leave you at the airport and tell people I was raised by wolves.
I put myself back on house arrest in an attempt to take off 1 trillion pounds in a month and half. I fear not even jail can jump that hurdle. The part where I tell it what I eat is always the issue…who goes on a diet and lies to themselves? Me. I like the numbers to look good. I’m truthful about what I eat….just not how much. Here’s the reason…1 serving looks great on paper…12 is where it gets ugly. I need to look good on paper if nowhere else. It’s amazing how it all adds up. Perhaps how I got into this situation. Maybe I should look before I eat? Nah…what fun would that be? While I’m on the lying subject, my husband grabbed my ass the other day after admiring it… in fat jeans. I don’t think he realizes how many sizes it takes to hold all that ass but he sure was liking what he saw. Dumb guy. So…what did I do to return the favor? I apologized. Yup. Told him I was sorry it was soo big.. note to self….when one gets laid about as often as a Preist (excluding the Catholics…they get way more action than they should…random sign of the cross) you should run with the compliment and use it to your advantage. Well…in my defense it was broad daylight and I never get naked at my size in broad daylight…so apologies were in order.
I feel sorry for my husband…mostly bcs he’s a man… but also for the things he’s forced to witness…me complaining about my weight whilst guzzling Krispy Kreme’s like liquid crack, random 400 lb weigh fluctuations, naked killer whale sighting in the shower…and so on. He’s a trooper. He hangs in there bcs he knows the “new me” is always right around the corner. Oh and if he left me…he’d just get sucked into some other woman’s fat trauma. Might as well stick with what he knows. Aint marriage grand? That should be a standard vow for every marriage, “I vow to stick around through “thick and thin” bcs where else would I go.” I now pronounce you a husband for life. You may kiss the bride…any hurry up about it….there’s a buffet waiting!