Sausage Casing

So, my high school reunion is this weekend and I am planning to go. By myself. Honey would rather be on another planet than socialize with people I knew in high school, so I am allowing him to stay home and parent the children. (Dubious call on his part, wouldn't you agree? Three boys could very well be worse than socializing with strangers.)

I am kind of nervous about it and am having to do a lot of self-therapizing. I am very proud of my accomplishments thus far. I feel successful, I have an advanced degree, a nice home, a happy marriage, three beautiful kids...and every single pound I gained in the last pregnancy still on my body.

Yes, I am scared of Going While Fat.

I weigh 80 pounds more now than on my high school graduation date. So that pretty much sucks. So, since I lack of time to do something about it (plus I have promised myself that I wouldn't diet until the baby is weaned...even if he decides to nurse until he is two...sigh), I would go try to buy some clothing that might make me feel more comfortable. And I did find a beautiful long purple dress with a little sweater that is very very pretty, but it does not disguise anything about my figure. I did buy the dress. The dress makes me happy. It is beautiful. I will probably even wear the dress to the reunion. I just need some shoes...

Anyway, in a fit of determination, I decided to go to Penney's to try on...control garments. I picked out a couple of likely candidates. A body suit thing with a space cut out for the boobs to frolic freely (or for you to wear your own bra.) A pair of short-type things that you pull up clear to your boobs in the style of spandex Urkle. And another number, that was more panty-like, but with the waist cinching-hook-contraption.

I brought my selections to the petite salesperson and asked if I could try them on. She waved me freely towards the vacant dressing rooms. As I shut the door behind me, I heard her come it. She said, "Oh honey, be sure to roll them down and then step into them! If you don't you will be yanking and pulling..." I thought I understood. She didn't want me to harm the merchandise. I said, "Oh yes! I wouldn't want to stretch them out." And she laughed at me. "No, honey. I don't care about that. But if you don't roll them down you are going to get tired and sweat!"

After disrobing, I could see what she meant. I jerked on the first one and felt like I was literally stuffing handfuls of myself into it. In my head, I could hear Scarlett 'fiddle dee deeing' whilst she was being squeezed into her underwear. When I looked in the mirror in all my squished glory...I couldn't tell the difference. So I did the most logical thing I could think of: I put my clothes back on. And STILL couldn't tell enough of a difference to warrant a $60+ undergarment. Plus, it was not what you would call comfortable. It was stiff, like someone coated me in glue and let it dry. I felt not unlike the pinata in Skippyjon Jones that would, at the end, explode sending toy chihuahuas and jelly beans flying.

In the end, I didn't buy it. I drove home giving myself a pep talk about how I am more than how I look. About how wonderful my life really is, how lucky I am. About how I am smart and capable and successful and kind and that, rather than my jean size, determines who I am. If people want to look at me and see something else...screw 'em. I didn't need them then and I don't need them now.

It's all true, you know.