With all the yoga, herbal supplements, meditation and mostly gluten free eating I’ve been trying lately to manage this silly panic/anxiety affliction I’ve acquired, I have some good news.
I’ve lost some weight.
And not just some weight. I’ve lost about 17 pounds. So far. (I’m optimistically counting on more. Trust me. I could stand a few more.)
Whoo-hoo! Go Me!
That’s the good news.
The bad news? My clothes don’t fit. Again.
“But this is one of my favorite pairs,” I cry. “I can’t get rid of these.”
“Fine,” my husband says, “Look like a homeboy hangin’ out in the prison yard.”
He has a point.
You’d think losing a little weight would be a good thing, right? An excuse to go shopping. Update the old wardrobe. But no. It’s not.
First of all, I’m cheap. In a good way. But cheap, all the same. I’m on a roll, without eating the rolls. I’m planning on going down at least another size. I can’t afford to re-do my entire wardrobe. But until then, I need some clothes that don’t slide down past my hips, revealing my Calvin Kleins. I enter the dressing room, armed with a half dozen pairs of jeans.
One pair is too tight.
One pair is too loose.
One pair is dragging on the ground or cutting me in the crotch or too loose around the thighs but fine everywhere else.
There is only one common denominator. Wait. Make that two common denominators.
1.) They are all the same size.
And…
2.) None of them are just right.
So I walked out of the store with nothing. Just my baggy ol’ pants that look like I borrowed them from my husband. Or my cellmate.
How could all the same size of the same style of clothing give such different results on the new, thinner me?
We are bombarded with print ads showing us how we should look. We compare ourselves to the other moms at the neighborhood pool. We criticize what we see in the mirror, no matter what size.
I was convinced if I went down a size (which I have) I’d be happier. I’d look so much better and I’d feel fantastic.
I am happy. I do look better. But I don’t feel fantastic.
I don’t know about you, but I need to feel good in my clothes. I want them to be comfortable and I’d like to think they are flattering. But those outfits are too far and few between. I may have lost the weight, but I haven’t lost my critical self. And it’s depressing to think that no matter what the size, I may never feel satisfied.
But all the criticizing in the world doesn’t make up for the fact that much of what is out there is just plain unpredictable and uncomfortable. I admit. I’m not much of a shopper. But is it too much to ask that a size X be a size X and fit like all the other size X’s out there?
Is it?
Apparently, it is.
Ah well. Just another excuse to go shopping again.
Anyone want to come with?
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