Well...I went shopping today. Now I'm not scared of 3 way mirrors. I and my fat are on intimate terms. I know it's there. It knows it's there. And when I am scrutenizing it...I am usually standing up.
I see myself in 2D. I look down and it's not so bad.
When I get the full on, despression inducing, effect is when I sit down in the dressing room, on the stool, in front of the mirror, and I see the spread. The full spread of my hips. My hips that don't look so awful bad when standing up. My hips that don't look so awful bad when I look directly down. My hips that have spread and I realize this is how others see me.
So I was reading another thread somewhere. And these women were talking of quality jeans. "you really must spend a little more money, get quality jeans and you'll look so much better. Smaller even."
I try anything. I head to Nordstroms. 7 For All Man Kind or some such jeans in my head. I'm ready to throw down $100 - $150 if the spread is minimized. (I normally get my jeans at the Fashion Bug, $30.) Nordstroms...I only go here to look at handbags and sunglasses. I haven't even bothered shopping where "The Beautiful People" shop for clothing. I have my dignity.
Maddi and I head up the esclator, she's just happy to ride the esclator. Step off into the holy grail of beauty. Don't look directly at the sales people. They might point you to Lane Bryant.
My pep talk in my head, "I could be shopping for anyone. Yea, I can afford this." NOT!
I find the jeans and start browsing quickly. $156. $149. Wimpering, but for the love of all that is holy, I want to look hot. (Momentarily forgeting that size 14/16 really is a pretty far stretch for hot, unless your big daddy like his muffin' puffin'. But I digress...)
So I look at the size. 29. What is this 29? 29! Now that's what I'm talkin' bout. But wait, taking a closer look, 29 probably won't fit over my calf. Checking for larger sizes. 31. 29. If 29 is a 4 in poor people world, I will need a 42 min. 29. 31. 32. 30. No 42's at all. I quickly realize these jeans ain't for momma.
Misson Aborted. Misson Aborted. I need to get my "Elephant in the department" "ask" out of there as casually and inconspiciously as possible.
Maddi and I walk aroound noncholant, like we belong. She likes the lights on the wall. I agree. They are beautiful.
Past the "special occasion" cloths. Read, flashy and VERY pricy.
Past the lingere. Yeah right. Let me magnify my first and third tummy rolls. They like attention.
Wait, what's this? 2 ladies, bigger ladies, looking at clothes. I step a little closer. Looks like Norstroms has a plus section. There is no advertising. I scan the signs. It definately not advertised, but right in front of me are jeans called "Not Your Daughters Jeans." I step from the walkway into the section. NYDJ have some special patent pending "criss cross that is going to take away a whole size from my frame." $88. I'm in.
Grab a pair and head to the dressing room. The salesperson is soo soo nice. "Do you want to look around for more clothing to try on?" "No thanks"-can't you see I'm slick with sweat for stepping out of my comfort zone this far and now I'm carrying jeans that have Patent Pending Fat Buffers. Please-just get me a room ASAP. She sets us up. I slide the bad boys on. They are so thin, they actually hug every dimple, roll and cellulite pock I own.
My $30 are stiff enough they hold it in naturally.
I guess the moral of the story is, "Quality" jeans are for skinny minnies, wait, rich skinny minnies, and I'm gonna stick with Fashion Bug.
