The only downside to having lost 102 pounds is that money must be spent to purchase clothes. Gee, tough downside, you say. Fuck you, say I, this is getting expensive!
I refuse to shop at Goodwill. There was one too many "eeeeuuuuwww!" experiences with stained clothing there, so I have given up on them. I do donate there, though, although none of my clothes are stained. Hell, they're all practically new, since I've undergrown them. I like that term, "undergrown." Better than "outgrown," that's for sure. But anyway, (Piggy's fave word) I've been spending money recently, trying to be prudent, knowing that these are temporary clothes as the weight is still melting off (60ish pounds to go, if you're keeping track.) I've shopped at *shudder*
Wal-Mart and Target (pronounced Tar-zjay, a la francaise), TJ Maxx and Marshall's, and, as a last resort, Macy's.
I was in the pajama department at Macy's, as I've been so cold all the time lately, I can no longer sleep au naturel.
As I was browsing the thick fleece PJs, it struck me that, while warm and comfy, these jammies were a bit, well, childlike. And, even though they're really a stopgap size (Large!), I should probably shop for who I want to be.What the fuck?
Who I want to be
? Who the hell invaded my head to plant that
thought in there? I was momentarily incensed - after all, I argued, who else was I going to be? Did I really have to reinvent myself just because I was a (much) smaller size? Did I have to be a different person? The voice in my head argued back, just as vociferously, that if I'd been sooooo
happy with myself and who I was, why was I bothering to do all these things that I hadn't done in ages, like dress stylishly, keep a monthly appointment at the salon, and wear makeup on a daily basis? Why had my conversations changed and become all about fashion, facials, and favorite nail color? Huh? Huh? Answer that, bitch! Fuck you
, I said, and the horse you rode in on. Just because I've developed new interests doesn't mean I'm not the same person I used to be. I'll wear whatever pajamas I fucking want to, fuck you very much, and I'll thank you to stay out of my business! And I'll wear them for the woman I was, the woman I am, and yes, the woman I will be.
At this point, I realized I'd gone over the edge and was arguing with myself, so I grabbed a pair of pajamas and got the hell out of there.
They may be red fleece and decorated with hat-and-scarf-wearing ducks, but they're nice and warm, goddammit, and that's all this
woman really cares about.
Labels: Weight loss surgery