Absolutely Flabulous
Claire shops for Fat Clothes

I did the unthinkable today - I went shopping to buy fat clothes.

Somehow my lack of comfort in my current clothing has spurred me not to the diet but to the department store. Rather than restrict my calorie intake, I wanted to buy jeans that wouldn't restrict blood flow to my lower extremities.

This is how it starts.

It seems innocent enough. I'm uncomfortable. I just want clothes that fit and look nice. I assure myself that it's only until my diet starts working again. Just to tide me over for a couple of months. I have to have clothes other than my pajamas that I can wear. I can't leave the house in these skintight pants.

So I want to buy the next size up in my jeans, because, well, you have to do that with jeans. They run small, you know. And the skirt in the next size will sit better on my waist. And with the stretch, those gray pants will show my lumpy thighs if I don't get a size larger. And on it goes.

But that's not the saddest part. I tried on clothes in the larger size. Nothing fit!

I no longer have a pants-shaped body. I think I'm elastic waist skirt only. I put on the pants and they are too high in the front, too low in the back, they bag at the zipper, and are too tight in the thigh. I also seem to need to grow at least 5 inches taller. Am I some sort of freak?

I contemplated lying on a big sheet of paper and drawing an outline of my body. Just what shape am I, anyway? I'm afraid to find out. Does the Pillsbury Dough Boy have a sister?

I can remember when I was so happy to be at this weight. Everything I put on looked great. I was a perfect fit. But back then I was all muscle because I was exercising every day. Now I'm just flab. Flabbity-flab-flab. Flab seems to weigh less, but it looks much worse and takes up more space.

I remember this party game from when I was younger where you put on a pair of long johns and then see how many balloons you can stuff in with you. I fear that I already look balloon-stuffed.

I don't really want to buy bigger clothes. I don't want to be in the Dough Boy's family photos. I don't want to be the flabby girl. But it's too late - I already am.

All the cute new spring clothes are on display in the department stores. Capri pants, sequined camisoles, and flouncy skirts - in pretty spring colors - taunting me. "Try me on - I dare you!" Ha! I look lumpy in dark winter clothes that cover every inch of my body. I can just imagine what I would look like in something revealing and pastel. This body is just not ready for that.

Clearly something needs to be done. I'm guessing that would be diet and exercise. Two simple sounding, everyday words that most days seem impossible to accomplish. Even as I'm writing this and feeling miserable, I'm thinking, mmm…pizza would be good.

Maybe it's the time in my life where this is going to be a struggle. Maybe it's the time of year. It's definitely that time of the month.

I know that change starts with a feeling of unrest and dissatisfaction. I'm definitely there. I'm waiting for the impatience and the determination to make things different that is sure to follow.

In the meantime, I'm thinking about the salad while I'm eating the pizza. I'm trying on new cross trainers while at the shoe store. I'm reading about how others have lost weight and managed to keep it off.

I'm choosing the 100-calorie snack pack instead of the whole bag of cookies. I'm making plans to start walking again when the weather gets warmer.

I'm doing the groundwork so that when I'm ready to go, I can make a great start.

I'm also imagining myself this summer in those cute capri pants and the sequined camisole - flabless and absolutely fabulous.

Please pass the pizza.

Claire