First things, first. Yes, Michael really did line up F CKED on my dishwasher. It was a complete fluke. I was on the phone with my mom when I glanced over and saw it. I busted out laughing so hard that my mom thought something had happened to me. I have no idea how those specific letters got there, but I'm glad I snapped a picture.
Second, this post is not for the faint of heart, or the jiggly of tummy either. Please proceed with caution.
I've spent the past several months working on losing weight, and I'm happy to say that I have been successful. For the first time in many years, I'm finally down to a size 10. This is wonderful, and I'm really proud of myself.
The downside to losing so much weight is that none of my pants fit. A few weeks ago, I went shopping for some work pants, because it's not terribly professional to walk around the office hiking my pants up every five minutes. However, I wasn't able to find any jeans that fit at Kohl's. This wouldn't be a big deal if it was still cold out, however now that it's warm I'm spending time outside with Michael, and the neighbors. If I have to crouch down or bend over, I'm afraid I'm going to flash half a moon at the neighborhood. That's not ideal.
Last night I decided to treat myself to a shopping trip at the King of Prussia mall (the second largest mall in America). I walked in feeling very good about myself. A little over a year ago, I was busting out of my size 16's. Today, I'm buying some size 10! I'm awesome!
The Levis store is one of the first stores I came to. It seemed like a safe place to do some jeans shopping. They should have some basic jeans appropriate for my lifestyle. Right? I was greeted by a very pretty boy who clearly spends more time on his hair and fashion that I do. He seemed very eager to help, and with his fashion sense, how could I go wrong? So, instead of blowing him off and looking on my own I decided to put my style challenged self in his care.
"Can I help you find anything?" He asked.
"Well, I'm looking for something that..." and that's when I realized I've never articulated this before and that my less than subtle approach to things might shock this sensitive young man's sensibilities. I paused and tried to find a polite way to say I wanted something that wouldn't show my butt crack. "I'd like something that doesn't expose too much of my backside."
He nodded and giggled. "I know just the jeans for you." And he showed me to the section with the mid-rise jeans. They had a great selection of sizes and washes. More than I've ever seen before. I was stoked. This was going to be so exciting. Size 10 jeans in whatever color or length I wanted! I grabbed an armful of jeans and headed for the dressing room.
There was another pretty boy in charge of the dressing room. He also had lovely hair, but personally, I thought his scarf was a bit much. Maybe that's why he was in charge of the dressing room and not the sales floor. Anyway, he showed me to a dressing room and left me with reassurances that he could get me anything I needed. I felt so important.
I stepped into the room, closed the door and gazed at the jeans I was about to try on. I went for a dark wash first. I prefer them for casual days at work. I stripped off my old stretch size 12 jeans, which I can pull off without unzipping, and stuck my leg into the first pair of pants. Then, the second leg. Then I wiggled them up over my butt and reached for the zipper. I had to suck in a little to get them on, but not too much. I exhaled and looked up into the mirror.
Oh my freaking goodness! Every ounce of fat in my body, plus some of the fat from the girl in the next dressing room, was hanging over the mid-rise waistband of the jeans. ALL. OF. IT. And I'm not talking that cute chubby baby fat that you see on some teenagers who need to pull their shirts down. This was not muffin top, it was fallen souffle! Add to that the stretch marks I have from carrying a ten pound baby, and it was not a pretty sight. It was, in fact, a disaster.
I dropped my shirt down and turned around. Damn, those jeans made my butt look good. I thought maybe I could get away with them if I kept the waistband covered, but then I turned around and looked in the mirror. The fallen souffle was so big that it was bulging through the shirt. I really wanted to just sit down and cry, but I had to be honest with myself, those jeans weren't going to let me.
I suppose I could have called pretty boy two over and asked him to get me a size 12, but at that point I didn't feel like it. I accepted defeat and peeled the jeans off, replacing them with my saggy size 12s. I pulled myself together and exited what had become the seventh level of hell. As I tried to slink, unnoticed, from the store, pretty boy two asked me how it was going.
I know he can't help it that he's prettier than me, I know he can't help it that he has better fashion sense than me, but at that very moment I hated him. I wanted to grab his strategically placed scarf and strangle him with it. Instead of stringing him up by his pretty little neck I mumbled something about needing to do a little more working out and bolted out the door.
There are only two things that will ever get me into jeans like that again. Madonna's personal trainer or surgery. I was just as deflated as my souffle top was when it was hanging over the waistband of those jeans.
Don't worry. In the end, I did have a good shopping experience. Once I calmed down I managed to find some lovely size 10 jeans at Eddie Bauer that I love. They aren't mid-rise, but they aren't mom jeans either. I'm ok with that.
And the next time a stylish gay man offers me fashion advice, I'm just going to walk away. They just have no idea what a real woman's body is shaped like.