So Tom has a gig tonight playing at a burlesque show. I thought it might be a good chance to break out of my frumpy shell and wear something fun - not that anyone will be paying any attention to a middle aged fat chick, no matter WHAT she's wearing - at a burlesque show - but it was my thought and I was entitled to it. I went to Kohl's, because I heard that's where ALL the sexy big gals shop. Or maybe it was just because I had a coupon for 30% off my purchase and there were door busters. It's hard to say. Anyway.
I hit clothes first. Obvious, right? But no - there was nothing there I couldn't imagine my mother wearing - and that didn't go a long way towards making me feel like a hottie. Not that my mom isn't an attractive woman, because she certainly is. But - well - oh, come on - I don't need to explain this to you.
On to shoes. Oh. They had some cute shoes. They had some hot, sexy, cute, cute ca-ute shoes. None of which were made to support the ankles of a woman who has been carrying this much weight for this many years. Leave the cute shoes - like every other fucking thing - to the young 'uns. But wait! What's this? Super-cute shoes with a stacked wedge heel and a little peep toe. And on CLEARANCE!!! My hands were shaking as I pulled a pair of those little stocking things out of the box so that I could try them on. Not in anticipation, just 'cause my hands generally shake. But I thought I'd amp the drama. It's a trip to Kohl's, for Pete's sake, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. I put the shoes on and they were a perfect fit. Comfortable too. But the shape - right at the peep toe - was just wrong.
It was then that I realized I was going to cry. My arms are too fat for sleeveless, my ass too big for tight, my knees too old and fat for short, my belly too - just, too... I've come to terms with all of that, more or less. But now my FEET are flawed? This just takes unfair to a whole 'nother level. And in 5 hours my handsome husband was going to be surrounded by bodacious babes. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!!! I looked for a quiet spot in Kohl's in which to indulge in my breakdown without alarming my fellow shoppers and it was at that moment that a hot flash hit. Oh, good! Because I was paying so much attention to my body flaws that I'd almost FORGOTTEN how freaking OLD I am! It wasn't one of those gradual ones, either. I was fine one second and the internal flame was turned up to eleven the next. I gripped the handle on my buggy - prepared to ride the trip to hell and back out - when I heard laughter. I looked around to see who it was and, much to my surprise, it was me.
Because you laugh or cry. And laughing is almost always better.
So I laughed.
I laughed till I had tears.
I don't know if anyone noticed me or not, I was pretty self-involved.
And then, when the heat subsided and the laughter died down and the tears were wiped away, I bought a new muffin tin.
Because I may never be able to be sexy again. Or young. Or relevant.
But I can have cupcakes.
I hit clothes first. Obvious, right? But no - there was nothing there I couldn't imagine my mother wearing - and that didn't go a long way towards making me feel like a hottie. Not that my mom isn't an attractive woman, because she certainly is. But - well - oh, come on - I don't need to explain this to you.
On to shoes. Oh. They had some cute shoes. They had some hot, sexy, cute, cute ca-ute shoes. None of which were made to support the ankles of a woman who has been carrying this much weight for this many years. Leave the cute shoes - like every other fucking thing - to the young 'uns. But wait! What's this? Super-cute shoes with a stacked wedge heel and a little peep toe. And on CLEARANCE!!! My hands were shaking as I pulled a pair of those little stocking things out of the box so that I could try them on. Not in anticipation, just 'cause my hands generally shake. But I thought I'd amp the drama. It's a trip to Kohl's, for Pete's sake, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. I put the shoes on and they were a perfect fit. Comfortable too. But the shape - right at the peep toe - was just wrong.
It was then that I realized I was going to cry. My arms are too fat for sleeveless, my ass too big for tight, my knees too old and fat for short, my belly too - just, too... I've come to terms with all of that, more or less. But now my FEET are flawed? This just takes unfair to a whole 'nother level. And in 5 hours my handsome husband was going to be surrounded by bodacious babes. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!!! I looked for a quiet spot in Kohl's in which to indulge in my breakdown without alarming my fellow shoppers and it was at that moment that a hot flash hit. Oh, good! Because I was paying so much attention to my body flaws that I'd almost FORGOTTEN how freaking OLD I am! It wasn't one of those gradual ones, either. I was fine one second and the internal flame was turned up to eleven the next. I gripped the handle on my buggy - prepared to ride the trip to hell and back out - when I heard laughter. I looked around to see who it was and, much to my surprise, it was me.
Because you laugh or cry. And laughing is almost always better.
So I laughed.
I laughed till I had tears.
I don't know if anyone noticed me or not, I was pretty self-involved.
And then, when the heat subsided and the laughter died down and the tears were wiped away, I bought a new muffin tin.
Because I may never be able to be sexy again. Or young. Or relevant.
But I can have cupcakes.
9 comments:
Laughing is what makes the tears bearable.
What a great post!
What a great post!
What a great post!
I am soooo with you. I hate shopping because of my weight. And I had lost 15 pounds when I was sick at the beginning of summer, and guess what? I gained it back. It's a bitch to love food!
I think Jacob really liked your post. I said to hell with my fat arms that waved bye bye everytime I lifted my hand a long time ago. I wear sleeveless and refuse to cringe (until I see pictures of me wearing the sleeveless).
Great post. I wear flats. I admire anyone who can withstand hours of torture in the guise of fashion.
I'm not quite sure how peep toes can be 'wrong'. I think you're too hard on yourself. In fact, I know you are. I, too, hate shopping and avoid it like the plague. Always have. And it only gets more painful as I get OLDer.
I agree I think you're too hard on yourself. And sometimes laughing is the only thing that makes sense.
Oh to be a fly on the wall! How were the cupcakes?
Post a Comment