May 17, 2011

Goodbye Fat Girl Shops, Hello Dryer

I have been treating myself with some respect for about ten months now and DAMN! Side–effect: I am almost down to playing weight. (Almost is a relative term.) I mean don’t get excited yet, I have a ways to go, ( I can still move furniture with a good hip swing) but if you know me and you ran into me recently you’d be impressed.

“Damn girl you look good”
“I know.”

And if you don’t know me and you ran into me, you probably wouldn’t notice me.

Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

You would not do a double take as I passed. You would not poke your friend and point at me. (I’ve seen you do this, bitches). At worst you might think, “That lady would be even cuter if she dropped ten or fifty.”

You would have to live my life to know how good being just normal fat feels. I bought a blouse at Kohls. KOHLS! Yes it was in the woman’s department, but it is the same store where a size 2 might buy something. GOODBYE FAT GIRL SHOPS FOREVER.

Goodbye Catherines. What makes you think chunky chicks want to be draped in flowing hibiscus print potato sacks? Goodbye Lane Bryant. Thanks for making me feel too old to shop at the sort of almost hip fat girl shop. Goodbye Woman Within Catalog. Shame on you and your muumuus, up to size 8x, that beckon us to keep going.

“There’s still a few steps left before you’ll be wearing bed sheets fastened with a lovely butterfly or cat pin, so order today.” (And I am not taking about twin sheets here!)

Goodbye to my ass being so big it looks like it houses my parasite twin.

Goodbye seat belt extenders on airplanes.

Goodbye daily pain. I have been recalled to life.


Bras that don’t have extenders.

Shopping with my girlfriends at the mall.

Hello waking up sans pain, and not dreading the day.

Hello to wearing something besides black, navy blue or brown… dark brown.

Thank you normal fat, but don’t get attached to me, I am just blowing through. I’ve got a date in chubby town. Smile when you see me there, in something besides shoes with a flat cushy heel, waiting in line for the next train to voluptuous city.

Hey there red dress. Yeah, red dress! Low cut and above the knee. That’s right… above the knee. I’ll wear you with strappy heels all the way to blue jean burg where I’ll slide into a pair of 501s without the aid of friends, pliers or lubricants.

In blue jean burg you’re free. It’s like a hub from where you can go anywhere. Anywhere!

Turn your nose up at the relaxed fit. Shun the elastic waist and the vanity sizing. Say hello to your DRYER. If you can’t slide them on, so hot the rivets burn your belly, you better get your pumas and hit the bricks. And no stopping for a smoothie because they’re “healthy”, you may have water, maybe some lemon.

Look, you do what you want, but when I get to the burg, I’m staying. So don’t come around talking to me about vacation or birthdays or Christmas or its Tuesday. Me, Wayne, 3oz chicken breasts, in season fruits, south beach fiber bars, and baked salmon are staying!

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