Fuck vanity

I have so many topics swimming around in my head right now. I just got off the phone with my dad and we talked about family, music, and the election. But I don't think I'm going to go there tonight. Instead it's going to be completely about me.

This week was "fat" week for me. Even worse? I need to do laundry. This means that the stuff that I could comfortably wear during "fat" week is dirty. This is how I found myself in the "wrong" skirt on Wednesday.

Up until about 20 years ago, I wore a size six. Then one day I walked into a store and tried on a size six. I was swimming in it. The saleswoman said, right before she brought me a size four, "Our sizes run large."

I thought that this was an isolated incident. But no. Suddenly instead of a size six, I was a size four. And as the years progressed, I became a size two.

I sew. OK. I used to sew. But the thing is that my size never changed as far as commercial patterns are concerned. I was a size six. And in recent years, I became a size six with size eight hips.

I am vain though. I loved saying that I wear a size two or four. Three years ago my former neighbor and I made a pledge. Each would kill the other if she ever had to go higher than a size four.

So this week due to bloating, I suffered through clothing that was beyond uncomfortable. Wednesday I had mistakenly chosen a skirt that I am still sure to this day, the cleaners shrank. Really. I sucked it in until my ribs were quite prominent and the skirt was still too tight. This was not the case in the past. And Wednesday night was tutoring. After spending eight-plus hours in this skirt, I just could not imagine spending an additional hour and a half. Oh, and the driving time home. And did I mention the lower back pain?

Fortunately I had a break between work and tutoring. That's when I headed to the mall. The store had loads of denim on sale. At this point I only owned one pair of jeans without holes. So I thought that denim was a good idea. I grabbed loads of pairs in size four. And at the last minute added one pair in size six.

I tried on a couple of pairs of the size four. In both cases I thought to myself that they would be completely comfortable in a week or so. They just weren't now. The whole point of the shopping expedition was to find something that was comfortable now -- besides the sweats that I wear at home in the evenings. And so I stepped into the size six jeans. They not only felt great but they looked great. And they were on sale.


Pretty cute. Right?

So now that I've crossed that threshold, I have decided that going up a size after 20 years isn't that bad. But it does stop here.