Wednesday, June 1, 2011

The one where I get to third base in a dressing room.

At least I think it was third base. I was never clear on the whole base thing. I never really liked soccer.

So, y'all know that I'm getting hitched. The big day is October 2, a mere 4 months away. I have done so much already and there is still a ton of stuff to do. Ugh.

One of the first things I was told to do was buy a dress. Apparently, you can't just show up to your own hitching in any old thing you like. You have to be all fancy and whatnot.


My idea of fancy is nice flip flops and the jeans that don't have a hole in the ass. As you can probably imagine, the thought of buying a dress was stressing me out just a little.

Then, I was told that before you buy the dress, you have to get all the under things that you'll be wearing to make the dress look good.

Hell, I was ten steps ahead on that one. Spanx are a part of 90% of my outfits. Wedding dress? You bet your ass I'm getting spanx for that!

So, off to the local lingerie shop I went.

I figured that would be my best option considering that I'm a little top heavy. They don't really stock the stuff for big boobs in the regular stores. They keep just enough on hand for appearance sake, but that's it.

I decided to get the good stuff for the girls. I am getting hitched, after all. That's a special occasion that deserves a little special treatment for the boobs.

Now, I have never been to a lingerie shop. I don't believe my fat ass should ever be in lingerie. I don't feel sexy enough for it. However, I heard that this particular place does bra sizing and whatnot and that's what I wanted.

I've never been truly sized. I was curious.

So, I walk in and I'm immediately greeted by this cute size 2 blonde. I tell her that I want wedding dress under armor and she tells me to follow her.

I figure she's taking me to the rack or something. Instead, she leads me to a dressing room and tells me to strip from the waist up, except for my bra.

Uh. Okay.

I do what I'm told. Then, Blondie pulls out her tape measure and starts to touch me. She measures me as I try to look into the mirror and pretend this isn't the most awkward experience of my day.

She finishes her measuring and then tells me to take my bra off and she's going to get me some things to try on.

Uh. Okay.

I'm left to stand half naked in the dressing room, holding up my boobs which are now unhinged and free to hang loose. Unfortunately, gravity is not kind to us big chested women. This becomes all too clear as I'm struggling to contain the girls while surrounded by mirrors.

Whoever designed these dressing rooms is a freakin sadist.

Walls of mirrors. No magazines. No pretty pictures on the walls. No elevator music. Just you and your fatness, flopping around behind the protection of a pink curtain which isn't even closed all the way.

One slight breeze and all the customers are going to be running from The Blob.

Holy sh*t. Is that really how low they hang now?

If I ever have a daughter, she's wearing a bra 24/7 from birth.

Wow. These jeans are super high waisted. Definitely not the right choice of outfit for such an event.

Maybe Blondie won't notice how frumpy they are.

I wonder if I have any chocolate in my purse. Or booze.

When Blondie returns, my self esteem has definitely started to take a downward turn. I'm feeling old, fat and very out of fashion.

I'm also angry at myself for not keeping booze in my purse. They do make those little bottles. Wtf is my excuse?

Blondie seems to be unaware of my discomfort. Maybe she thinks I normally sweat this much.


She immediately starts to dress me in bustiers. Because, that's exactly what is going to make me feel better about myself. A size 2 blonde wrangling my old lady boobs and all of my flab into sexy bustiers.

Omg. Marriage is hard.

Of course, the first couple don't fit so she has to leave me again to go get some more.

I'm feeling super awkward now so I do what any normal person would do. I pull out my blackberry and seek solace from my smartass friends. When Blondie comes back with more bustiers, I'm texting a friend to tell her that I'm half naked in a dressing room awaiting a size 2 blonde to return for more groping.

My friend's reply? "Dear Penthouse..."

Blondie seemed irritated by my texting.

What the hell else am I supposed to do? Just stare at my saggy boobs and my Mom jeans as I contemplate all of my flaws? I don't think you want to be dealing with the aftermath of that, Blondie. It won't be pretty. Distraction is required.

After several more gropings and near meltdowns, Blondie and I decided on a bustier and some spanx. I felt sufficiently sucked in and sexy in both items. I gotta give Blondie credit for that.

She knows her stuff. Or, stuffing, if you will. HA!

After I had made my decisions, she leaves me to get dressed. When I exit the dressing room, she is waiting for me at the register.

As I walk up, she says "Hi. How are you doing today?"


Maybe I'm confused. Weren't you the woman who just felt me up behind that pink curtain? 'How am I doing today?' Sh*t. I'm feeling a little betrayed. Thank you.

I can understand some distancing. That's probably important in a job where you're groping fat chicks and their sweaty parts all day long. You have to maintain some boundaries or things might get weird.

But, seriously?!


Whatever. I paid for my under armor, hiked up my Mom jeans and got the heck out of there with what little dignity I could muster.

I was going to ask her where the nearest bakery was, but decided against it.

(Oh. In case you were wondering...36FF. Yeah. So, there's that.)

1 comment:

  1. This is exactly why I resist getting resized - my first sizing involved the woman doing the old knock-and-walk while I was bare-chested: I think the people on the SIDEWALK OUTSIDE THE STORE got a nice show. For free. Dammit.


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