I refuse to say I am fat.
While typing this, I am wearing a size small shirt and jeans that are in the single digits. I refuse to beat myself up. In part, because that would be exercise.
I will, however, say that my clothes are skinny.
I had a date with the Pastor last night, and I was trying to psych myself up. It's not that I didn't want to go out with him, it's just that I seem to be in a post-Christmas funk. Not getting any presents (except from Moms) will do that to you.
I put on my false eyelashes. I hated all my clothes and thought it might cheer me up if I got something new to wear. Besides, I've been really good lately waiting for Santa to come (yet I still got the shaft) and I knew the Pastor wouldn't say anything if I went shopping.
We have a new outlet mall. I want it to do good. I want to like it. I really like a couple of the stores, but I kind of hate going there. It seems like everyone who shops there? Is incredibly stupid. This coming from a woman who routinely shops at Goodwill. I think it says a lot that the people at Goodwill annoy me less than the people at the outlet mall.
I wanted some fabulous retro circle skirted 1950's cocktail dress. You know, the 1950's, when women still had hips. Needless to say, the outlet mall didn't have the look I wanted. Why is everything made for stick straight people? Am I the only curvy girl out there? The Kardashian's are everywhere - and those girls have booties! How is it possible that they can be on the cover of every magazine, yet not have made an impact on the design of clothes? This would mean the Kardashian's have really served no purpose.
I gave up on the mall and went home where I proceeded to have the parade of the closet. I was too embarrassed to even photograph my looks and send them to any friends. The first look I tried on included a floral bubble skirt, a silver sequined tank and a purple cardi with silver trim. I looked like a bag lady who had raided a dumpster behind The Loft, or to give you an even better visual - imagine what the librarian at a LGBT library would wear.
The next look included a short black full skirt and a black sequined top. I looked like a sad, old ice dancer.
I gave up and put on a sweater dress. I was glad the Pastor wasn't home to see me pull my boots over my calves. If you ever want to question the size of your calves, go buy a pair of boots. I have never thought "I have abnormally large calves." I don't believe I do. But there is nothing like putting on boots that will make you think "what is wrong with my hideous, mishapen legs?"
We had a nice dinner out. We went to a restaurant we'd not been to before. The Pastor ordered a special.
Here's the thing about the specials at a fancy restaurant. They don't tell you how much they cost, and you don't ask because you are at a fancy restaurant. His special involved steak and shrimp. Once the check came and for once the Pastor's meal cost more than mine, I knew the date was over. Then I got to listen to how much food costs and how hard the Pastor works (he does) and the value of a dollar and how he would have been just as happy with a $5 hamburger. It went from hot date to conversation with a depression-era grandpa, just like that. This turn of events made me glad I hadn't added to the expense of the date with fashion.
Oh and by the way, I didn't care about my skinny clothes, that I had thought that maybe I should wear tights and spanx (sexy date undergarment combo), or how much it cost. I thought about having fun - and fun for me meant getting the strawberry cake.
It was delicious. I expect me and that cake will have another date soon, whether I find that perfect cocktail dress or not. As for the Pastor, you'll probably find him wherever $5 hamburgers are sold.
I refuse to say I am fat.
Posted by Robyn at 7:45 AM