Bring on the clowns

Bring on the clowns

“Why don’t you go to Addition Elle or Penningtons?”

My husband would suggest to me.

“WHAT?? WHY?”

“Because you are always complaining that the boutiques in the mall only have clothes for 12 year old barbie dolls,

maybe you should go somewhere for big  girls.”

Did he just call me a big girl? I’m not big. I’m short…and round.

He clearly never did redeem the coupons to husband school that I gave him for his birthday.

I shot daggers into his head with my eyes and stormed out of the room.

Years later ( a week ago)  I found myself shopping for pieces for a burlesque costume, for my last show.

I tried all the cheesy lingerie stores in the neighbourhood and found nothing bigger than a D cup that didn’t resemble a beige control top chastity belt held up with seat belt straps. On my way home I passed a plus size clothing store and stopped to peer in the window.

It’s just a bra Jen, you’re not buying fat people clothes, you’re buying a bra.

I took a deep breath and walked in. The story was the same there in the undergarment department but what was really horrifying was the clothing draped all over the racks and even on some of the sales people.

Somebody PLEASE tell me who decided that fat ladies should wear giant floral prints and bold polyester primary coloured stripes or at least enlighten me on why half the tops and dresses come adorned with massive sashes and bows and buttons the size of my face. What kind of cruel joke is this and who is buying it? Do overweight women not feel insecure enough as it is? I don’t know about the rest of the plus size ladies out there, but I tend to try and hide my rolls a little, not deck them out in their own costumes to insure that everybody sees them in their full glory. I’m not saying it’s shameful to be curvy or whatever, I’m just saying that I’m a fan of the colour black and prefer my stripes to be thin and vertical.

I’m also saying that since the store specializes in clothing for larger ladies, you would think that they would offer a few items that flatter the figure, rather than turn it into a neon sausage with Christmas decorations dangling from it.

Is the owner a  sadistic skinny little fat farm survivor who has taken it upon herself to punish everyone over size 12 by dressing them up like circus clown? Was she lurking behind a curtain, watching me break into a sweat, doubting my sanity and searching for the exit?

I tried to leave but in my panic took a wrong turn and  found myself in the bargain basement instead. I started hyperventilating and swooning with dizziness but nobody offered to help. The bearded ladies just looked on, cackling and throwing their heads back in time with the sound of the organ grinder’s tune. I think there was a screeching monkey jumping from rack to rack, waving his finger at me wildly.  It’s a wonder I even made it out of there alive.

Needless to say, diet is going back on my list of New Years resolutions this year.

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