Know how when you go to Old Navy and they have those racks full of discounted clothes? Like, there'll be a sweater that was once $49.99 and now it's $11.99! The kicker, of course, is that the sweater is an XXXXXXXL and so under normal circumstances you marvel at the sale price but really it means nothing because you weren't in need of a knitted TENT.
Guess what? The tent fits now!
Last week was made miserable by the fact that clothing this body has turned into a nightmare. I cannot abide purchasing maternity clothes. They're usually more expensive than normal sizes, I guess because of all the damn material it takes to create them. To buy a pair of jeans I'll wear for a couple of months, tops, just pisses me off.
I end up grudgingly buying one pair of maternity jeans and one stretchy pair of pants and proceed to squeeze myself into those for as long as the stitching holds together. But about two weeks ago I noticed that my trusty pants were tighter than Nicole Kidman's forehead.
I broke down on Saturday and went to the local thrift shop. I scored a couple of sweaters but no fabric items to cover an ass the size of Texas. So I went to (say it with me everyone!) OLD NAVY! I bypassed all the fancy new stuff draped on the creepy mannequins perpetually hovering near the front door and made my way to the bowels of the store. The sale rack.
Usually the sale rack is crammed full of stuff that would still need to be taken in to fit Jabba the Hutt. But Oh My God it was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow for me. I'm pulling out sweaters, sweaters that I'd buy at full price, but because they're XXXXXXXXXL they wouldn't sell so the Old Navy powers-that-be had a little pricing pow wow (We've got to move this shit to make way for the spring collection of khakis and cargos! It's all about moving merchandise, people. Team cheer and 3, 2, 1 OLD NAVY! Jessica! Where are your headphones, Godammit if I've told you once...) and marked them down to $10.99 from forty something. And they fit! I bought three of the same one in different colors.
The only downside of the shopping experience was when I caught a glimpse of the back of my naked self while changing.
Hand to god, I wouldn't recognize myself in a line-up of five naked chicks. Hell, stand three naked chicks, including myself, shoulder to shoulder, put a bag over their heads, put a gun to my head and ask me which one was me and I couldn't tell you.
The naked chick I saw in the Old Navy changing room mirror in no way resembled the girl I remember. Big thumping, dimpled ass, huge rolls of back fat, thighs all crammed together. The fitting room started spinning and I tried to focus on the one pregnant positive: no stretch marks.
I'd breathe in and with every exhale I'd say "no stretch marks." Breathe in, breathe out/no stretch marks. Breathe in, breathe out/no stretch marks. Breathe in, breathe out/no stretch marks.