Obviously, as someone who has to shop in plus size shops , it’s pretty obvious I enjoy my food.
Yet it’s an almost furtive shifty me who sidles into the big girl shops. I don’t know particularly why this is. It’s not as if the shop is going to be full of stick thin lollipop heads all yelling ‘Ha! Caught you! You big heifer!’
There’s always other people my size and bigger, yet it still feels rubbish as you wander the depressing, drab aisles, fondling the boring and ugly clothes that make up the new summer collection.
Then of course there’s the rare and exciting occasions when you actually lay your hands on something not half bad. It’s in an ok colour, the material actually hides all the blobby bits rather than accentuate them, and it’s in your size!
It’s like finding the biggest egg in the Easter egg hunt! Or at Christmas time when you used to sneak up to the tree and be very pleased that the biggest present has your name on. Finding a new top is like that.
Golden light surrounds you in the shop, angelic music plays and you’re delivered to the cash desk on a floaty fluffy cloud of happiness and contentment.
The feeling is still with you when you skip to work in the new top, a grin so big people think you’ve gone a bit deranged. It’s possibly the only time you strut down the road with the confidence of someone much slimmer.
The feeling is still with you at lunchtime when you pop out for a quick sandwich. It’s even still with you when you meet an old friend of your gran’s in the queue.
Mavis: Hello dear, how are you? When are you due?
Me: I’m, er, sorry? Pardon?
Mavis: Your baby dear, when are you having it?
Me: (pause for incredulous silence and a bit of jaw dropping action)
Me: I’m not pregnant!
(shifty silence on Mavis’ side)
Me: Just fat.
Mavis: (nervous laugh) Oh I know dear, I have the same problem!
I’ve never seen an old person move that fast down the road, especially as she was a skinny bean and can’t possibly have ever had my particular problem!
New top quickly relegated to the bottom of the wardrobe to live with the ill-advised suede boots and ugly handbag your gran bought you from the charity shop.
The feeling is but a distant memory now. Almost as if the top was invisible.
Love,
Fatty Blob Head
