I went clothes shopping last week.
Before last week, I hadn't been shopping since right after Christmas, that time of year when gift cards and returns burn a hole in my pocket. My sister and I went to Anthropologie; she exclaimed over the cute dresses while I headed straight for the housewares section. At The Gap, I saw a really pretty shirt in XL and decided to try it on, just in case. Five minutes later I was cursing and sweating over the exertion of trying to button it over my ginormous bosoms. I tried to ignore my reflection in the mirror and get back into my own clothes as soon as possible, vowing not to try anything else on, regardless of size, price, or style. I was miserable. I hadn't weighed myself in weeks, but I was pretty sure I was heavier than I had ever been, and as I reflected on the last five years of yo-yo-ing, I had no hope that I'd eventually lose weight.
This last experience was different. I'm still too big for clothes at most boutique stores, but a dress I tried on at New York & Co. slid over my chest so smoothly I almost gasped out loud. Granted, it was not made for someone who tops out at 5'1, but it felt great to decide against it because of style, not because it just didn't fit. I ended the day frustrated, but only because I couldn't find what I was looking for, not because I felt hopeless. I have a ways to go, but I'm determined! And come August, I will reward myself by buying a dress for my brother-in-law's wedding. I'm going to go to Ann Taylor and Bananna Republic, two stores whose style I love but whose doors I am afraid to darken for fear that the lovely salesladies will faint at the idea of their clothes on my chunky body.
You heard it here first, folks. One day, I will enjoy shopping.