Clothes shopping. Two words that can strike fear into the heart of a women.
I went shopping with a friend yesterday. We're trying to get ready for some upcoming business travel. She did great. I did...well, let's just say my experience led me here to start a blog about it.
I wore my trusty Spanx (a much more fun and hip word than "girdle" don't you think?) and headed out in hopeful anticipation. Three stores, four fitting rooms and five hours later, my optimistic mood had all but evaporated.
We started with bras--what a debacle. Arm pit fat. Blech. Moving on. Chico's: home of Travelers stretchy fabric. Yes, it fit and was comfortable. But looking in the mirror was painful. The nice long (and I hoped slimming) jacket just made me look short and dumpy. Have I shrunk? I didn't think that was supposed to happen for years yet. Moving on. Shoe shopping at Macy's. I thought "this ought to be good." But squeezing my big feet into these pretty shoes just made the shoes look bad! Then it was upstairs for more clothes. I only tried on two things: a wrap shirt and a dress. The shirt was okay; it's style did camouflage some of my trouble areas. But the empire style dress just made me look pregnant. And worst of all was the three-way mirror where I could see every bump and roll. Seeing myself from the back was particularly appalling. So much for the Spanx.
Having had mildly similar experiences in dressing rooms in the past, I was shocked at my initial response. In the past, such experiences had proven to be wake-up calls, epiphanies. Must get back to Weight Watchers. Need to start walking at lunch again. Motivating calls to action. Must. Fix. This . Situation. Now!
Yesterday's response was one of resignation. I looked at myself from the front, side and back, and all I could think was: Might as well go to See's Candy.
But last night I dreamed of this: to join my desire to write with my journey to health. And here I am.
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