Not bad for a fat girl


Bra Update

So a word to the wise, when you buy a bra spend a little time getting to know it. Walk around in it. Pick things up in it. Sit down in it. See how you like it.

Maybe, just maybe, it feels pretty good for the first thirty or so minutes, but after that, not so good. Maybe, just maybe, you should keep the tags ON your new purchase and plan to spend a weekend morning in said device before fully committing.

I’m just saying, three minutes in the fitting room is probably not enough time to make a decision that can affect your well being as much as wearing a bra that hurts. There, I said it, it hurts!

Why? Because I sat down. Yes, my crime was sitting. I’m fat, dammit, and when fat people sit stuff gets all squished around and in my case that means that the underwire got forced into my ribs. Ow, ow, ow.

So yes, the bra makes the boobs look pretty darn good for 50, but it’s going to hang out in my closet most of the time. Special occasions, though, look out. Who needs all those ribs, anyway?

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So THAT’s How My Bra Should Fit

I’m a believer in comfort. It’s difficult enough moving through life in this oversized body, putting uncomfortable clothing on it would be asking too much.

As a result of my commitment to comfort I swore off underwire bras many years ago. Why? Well, they hurt. Who needs that in her life? Not this gal. As a result I found a line of bras at Lane Bryant that has no underwire and actually comes in my size. Hooray! I bought them. Lots of them. Tan, pale pink, hot pink with polka dots, grey, black, and cobalt blue. Multiples of some of them, even. I was happy.

Then, I decided I needed some new underwear. It happens. The elastic stretches out, the seams fray, they’ve run their course. Off to Lane Bryant I went, because no matter what other underwear I try, the hipsters from Lane Bryant are my go-to undies. Oh, and they have to be cotton, please and thank you.

Well, as I was collecting various pairs of undies, the bras caught my eye. It had been a while since I bought one, and it was probably about time. The clerk noticed me checking them out and asked me my size. I hemmed and hawed a bit, because I really couldn’t remember. That’s when she asked me about doing a fitting. Uh, okay.


You will not be surprised to know that these are not images of me.

She did her magic (not really, just a couple of quick measurements) and suggested a size and a couple of styles. Off I went to try them on, and immediately I was amazed that everything seemed to sit at a new, higher elevation. Still, it didn’t feel quite right, so I took the opportunity to ask the clerk (a different one) who was helping the lady next to me with her bra, for some additional help.

She determined that the size was right, but the style was wrong. She brought me something else, and voilà! I was amazed. I looked good! And it even had underwires. So apparently they only hurt if your bra doesn’t fit correctly. Who knew?

I’m now the proud owner of new underwear and bras, what an exciting time in my life! Thank you Lane Bryant for making things that fit me, and thank you to the ladies in the store for helping me find the right fit.



Nobody Looks at the Fat Chick Anyway

suitcaseI’m going out of town, to a family event. There are religious services involved, and at least two family celebrations. It’s back east, where the weather is colder and the events tend to be more formal. I just packed.

The last family event was my niece’s Bat Mitzvah, four months ago. It was summertime, so it wasn’t quite as dressy as an autumn event, but the daytime portion of the program was still a dress up affair. The evening party was advertised as casual, but really nobody wore what I would consider to be truly casual clothes. I wore a cute skirt and top, and was very comfortable with my choice. I didn’t even cringe when I saw the pictures the photographer snapped of me.

This weekend, however, is a different story. First of all, I don’t have a huge dress up wardrobe. A simple dress is about as dressy as I usually get, plus I have a couple of skirts and jackets that occasionally get pressed into service. Secondly, I’m currently the size of a small nation. I’ve gained weight since the last family event, and I’m dreading seeing my mother and hearing whatever “loving” comments she’ll make about it. I feel like a blob, and I feel like nothing fits me. I caught sight of my reflection in the window the other night eating dinner, and frankly I was taken aback. I’m huge. In fact, I’m terrified that when I board the plane in a few hours I’ll have to request a seatbelt extender for the first time in my life.

As I faced the empty suitcase I sucked in a breath and dove in. I mentally rehearsed several outfits, and even tried on a few blouses that I thought were iffy. Finally it dawned on me that nobody expects the fat chick to look good anyway, so why was I making myself crazy over this?

C’mon, you know it’s true. If you’re a big fat person like me, that’s all people really see. They don’t care that you’re dressed well or poorly, unless you’re off the charts on either end of the spectrum. Since I’m not going out shopping with a stylist (but wouldn’t that be great? My own personal episode of What Not to Wear!) and I’m not planning on turning into a hobo between now and my flight time, I have to be satisfied with what I have.

No, I won’t be the best dressed woman there, but I won’t be the worst dressed either, I’m sure. I put in some decent separates, and decided that I would make my final wardrobe decision just before each event. My family will be happy to see me for me, and the strangers in the room will only see the fat girl anyway, so it’s time to quit worrying.