There was a sale, a really good sale, this weekend that begged me to consider expanding the inventory of blazers and slacks that actually fit.
There are certain advantages to living without large mirrors -- that were lost in the harsh multi-angled, flourescent views of dressing room.
The first try didn't come close. The continuous loop of "Fat Actress" promos from the Showtime preview began to play in my head.
The second was no better. But I don't usually buy in this store and EVERYONE knows cheaper clothes are cut tighter.
But going up a size would take me from XL to Plus... an emotional leap that makes Evil Knievel's Snake River Canyon stunt look like a puddle jump. We weren't going there.
So I kept trying on clothing in the same size, intent on the prayer that the sizing issue would correct itself. After an excuritiating hour, I had four suck-it-in-maybes. An objective display of the choices revealed that the only thing any of these items had going for it was that they almost fit.
They went back on the rack. I instinctively started thinking about lunch.
But stopped myself in the home area of the store and bought a scale. At the grocery store I loaded up on fruit and Lean Cuisine, the larder was stocked for the battle.
Once home, I approached the scale with fear and loathing. I stepped aboard with my eyes closed and nearly lost the argument with myself to open them.
Haven't actually gained an ounce since I left Georgia. The French Paradox is getting all the media attention these days, but apparently there is something to the Buffalo Anti-diet.



Copyright 2005 Judi Griggs