I’m at that stage where I’m not at my goal weight, but my current wardobe has me in Frumperella zone.
Closet Lotto has reached an all time high score with me wearing a mini skirt, tights, knitted shawl, and turtle neck. I’m grateful for the cold waether because it allows an opportunity to wear boots, jeans, and the piece de la resistance my Gordon Ramsay Peacoat to cover it all up.
This would suffice, but my current gig calls for more public appearance, and jeans and Chucks don’t add to the look I’m going for.
I hit some of the area stores today, my goal to find adult looking clothes that can double as church attire AND also non PTA mom looking gear.
It wasn’t an easy feat by any means.
The first store I stopped had some really cute things on the mannequins, but closer inspection shows that the clothes are pinned in the back to highlight the flattering fit. The sweater dress I tried was reminiscent of Queenie when she worked and used to love tan ankle boots and Opium perfume. There were some patterned shirts that were of the ‘wrap’ style, but seemed to flash my less than bodacious tatas.
The second store I tried had almost every animal print you could imagine. I walked out as soon as I saw the racks of animal. As if I want to resemble a cheetah, zebra, or tiger. Gah!
The third store was a variety of animal and flower print. So instead of being a leopard, I’m a leopard with a flower across my tummy. The shirts without prints had bows or ruffles.
Who in the eff thought a ruffle on a size D would look cute? And why do heavy women have to look like children? Arzilla wears bows! Not me, the thirty something something, close to forty mother to two, wife to one. Is the purpose of the bow to serve as a reminder that my seams will burst if I eat an additional slice of cheesecake?
Undefeated, I settled on a chocolate brown outfit that will go with my favorite brown boots and a vow to do boot camp twice a day.
I harbor NO fantasy that I will ever be rail thin. I just don’t want to llok like my grandmother when I’m dressed.