I must apologize to my readers after yesterday’s post. Usually, I get giddy every time I click publish and see my daily ramblings pop up all professional and swanky like on the screen. But yesterday disappointed me. My whiny rant over a potential trip to Miami and a bridesmaid dress left me disgusted with myself – is that really my writing? When did I get so bitter and angry? When did I start letting my weight dictate my happiness? When did back fat become more important than one of my closest friends?
Coincidentally, after posting last night I read a quite entertaining Dress Barn Revisited article. It reminded me of my own clothing shopping adventures – specifically, that normal-sized clothing that A.) fits, and B.) is attractive, is a bitch to find. (As I noted, I refuse to use the term “plus sized” when over half of the American public is size 12 or above. That is not “plus”, that’s “half”.) In fact, I have been so discouraged with the apparel industry, that I have resorted to shopping in the maternity section just to find decent clothes that fit (I am NOT pregnant). As a result, I live in constant fear that my boyfriend will one day do the laundry, notice the “Motherhood” tag, and freak out. (In a sick way, I also find this imaginary scenario rather hilarious for some reason. But he is such a good boy, perhaps the most patient man alive, that I would feel really guilty if the laundry-scare ever actually occurred)
In the end, I wondered if this is really what I have become – a bitter, whiny brat stuffed inside pregnancy pants?
If so, I am sorry. And moreover, it’s time for a change…
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