Thursday, March 17, 2011
The other day, Rusty and I drove up to "the mall". Not the tiny, sad excuse of a mall that resides locally, but the "big mall" about 30 minutes down the highway. After discovering that I could not purchase what I had intended to purchase, I felt the need to justify the trip by purchasing something else. But being broke, that wasn't a practical option. Then I remembered that I had a gift card still waiting to be spent at Victoria's Secret. Sadly, I'd been holding on to this gift card for two years now because of the emotional minefield I would have to cross to actually enter the store and purchase something. Granted, window shopping in the shiny, twinkling mall is a cruel reminder of how far I am from the most coveted demographic, and how far I am from my 16 yr old size 9 self. I try to remind myself of all the negatives of being a teen and how I wouldn't go trade places with my 13 yr old for anything, but I can't help but feel envious and highly self-critical. So I was already fighting "that place" when I walked into the store, but I kept my chin up and began my search for something--anything they might have on sale that would fit me. Bras are right out. Don't even bother looking. I am at least 3 cup sizes larger than their largest available. It always baffled me that big boobs are so openly coveted and sought after but no store likes to carry bras in sizes over 36D.
And naturally there are wall-to-wall bras all lacey and shiny. So pretty. So small. So useless. I start looking instead at the chamises. Extra small. Small. Extra small. Small. Small. Small. Small. Small. Medium. Large. They don't even make Extra Larges. I'm under no illusion that anyone besides my husband covets my body, but I'm no walrus, either. Do they not realize how much more money they'd make if they made everything in just one size bigger??? OK, I realize that a little nightie thing isn't going to happen either. Fine. Panties. My ass isn't that big--do they make their panties in Extra Large? I've been through this before, I know where they keep the Fat Girl clothes: in the very last, very bottom drawer. There aren't any hanging on display or spread out on the tables where the Twigs might accidentally touch them. My eyes lower to the bottom drawers and I follow around the room looking for the Extra Large drawer. Large. Large. Large. Large. Large. Large. Large. Large. Large. 
Ah, finally: Extra Large. I can see before pulling it open that it is only about 1/3 full. As I pull it out, I swear I heard a faint "Moo" from deep inside. And what do I find? Granny panties. And look, they come in all sorts of fun colors, just like that pack of Hanes briefs your mom bought you when you were 8! Not a single style with lace, satin, or anything remotely sexy could be found in my size.
Ah, finally: Extra Large. I can see before pulling it open that it is only about 1/3 full. As I pull it out, I swear I heard a faint "Moo" from deep inside. And what do I find? Granny panties. And look, they come in all sorts of fun colors, just like that pack of Hanes briefs your mom bought you when you were 8! Not a single style with lace, satin, or anything remotely sexy could be found in my size.
Fuckit. I consider buying some perfume or a lip gloss and calling it a day. But I'm on vacation, and I've had a lovely few days of leisure--all the extra sleep and the absence of work stress has greatly improved my libido as well, and I'm determined not to piss all over that. So I quickly grabbed up three pairs of lacey panties in Large and bought them. They're stretchy, they'll serve their purpose. I may have salvaged my self-esteem, but I don't have to like that evil company, nor do I have to pretend that I'm not shaped like a freak of nature.
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