2XL

Hello, friends. Sorry I haven't written since Wednesday. I was really looking forward to coming home from work and writing on Thursday, but I didn't quite make it home. I was locked out of my apartment. I have a key to the exterior door of the building, but the interior door leading to my apartment was locked, and none of my keys were able to open it. I called my housemate, M'Grite, and said I was sorry for bothering her at work, but that I was locked out. She then reminded me that she was at the airport, getting ready to board a flight to Vermont.

I then texted my boyfriend, Eric, who I knew was still at work, and told him I was locked out and that he'd probably have to pick me up and take me to his apartment in Virginia. Knowing that I had no clothes at Eric's apartment, I decided to go to Target and buy an outfit (and underwear) to wear to work the next day.

I *loathe* shopping for clothes. Nothing destroys my soul quicker than a trip to the dressing room. I've gained about 20 lbs. in the last three years, and I've never felt more at war with my body that I do right now. None of my old (and favorite) clothes fit me anymore. I can't find jeans that fit me anymore. I basically live in stretchy skirts, leggings, and extra large button-up shirts. I find I prefer to shop in the maternity section of clothing stores. At least those clothes are designed for someone with my body shape.

At Target, I grabbed my first round of clothing to try on (various shirts and trousers). Nothing fit. The extra large shirts were too small. Ugh. And on top of it all, I got a glimpse in the mirror of my back fat rolls and the cellulite in the back of my thighs. Double ugh. I gave into the tears of despair and sobbed on the floor of the Target dressing room.

Eric called me at this point to say that he was leaving work and just got my text messages. He told me he could pick me up from Target in about an hour. Knowing I only had a small window of time to acquire an entire outfit for the next day, I picked my sad, flabby ass off the floor and went back for another round of clothes. This time, I got a bunch of 2XL shirts and skirts. And, ugh, I found a couple of shirts (and a stretchy maternity skirt) that fit.

I grabbed my clothes, then hustled to the underwear section to get a new 38-C bra (ugh) and a six-pack of size 8 women's briefs (double ugh!). The only thing that wasn't a size larger than the last time I went shopping were my socks (no matter what, I'm still a dainty size 8 shoe, woo-hoo).

The task was complete. I had a full outfit (and back-up outfit, if need be) for the next day. I went to the check-out and purchased my sad, defeated outfit.

Obviously, after this wake-up call, I decided to cut all carbohydrates out of my life. Surely, one year without sugar and flour will bring my back to my daintiest size (size 10, during the depression and anxiety days). So I decided, right then and there, that my diet would start tomorrow. But I was so sad and defeated at that moment that I definitely needed a Pizza Hut Pan Pizza to take the edge off the pain of the night. And lucky for me, the Target cafeteria sells Pizza Hut Pan Pizzas. So I bought one! But hey, I'm on a diet, so I just got the plain cheese pizza, rather than the pepperoni. Diet, you know.

Shortly after finishing my emotional-pain-numbing pizza, Eric called to say that he was down the street, in his car, waiting for me. Have I mentioned what a nice boy he is? In my sadness and despair, he said, "Leila, it's the clothes that are the problem, not you." He's so lovely. He should be with a much hotter girl, but I'm not going to tell him that ;-)

It's now Saturday night, two days after the lockout affair. The door has been opened. Life has returned to normal. And Eric made me steak and brussel sprouts for dinner, with raspberry sherbet for dessert. No talk of diet tonight. I may be falling asleep in 2XL pyjamas, but I'm also falling asleep in the arms of my dream man.

Night-night,
Leila