Friday, September 19, 2008


I'm back to bitching about my clothes.

Since I stopped my regular attendance at the Pilates classes (April?) the ratio of muscle to fat in my body has reorganized itself, so while I only weigh a couple more pounds than I would like, the shape of my body is not what it was. I'm sure some of this has to do with my increasing age, as my metabolism isn't what it once was, but also to do with the lack of exercise and my increasing willingness to eat to comfort myself through the ongoing frustration of my body not cooperating with my desire to be pregnant.

I've squeaked through the summer with a few purchases here and there. I've worn them to the exclusion of most every thing else in my wardrobe, but with cooler weather coming I have to face the truth: my clothes most likely won't fit.

And by clothes, I mean pants/jeans/skirts. Anything that covers my growing thighs and rear. Already I've fought the battle with jeans and while I have one pair that don't give me a muffin-top or camel-toe, they are also pretty darn close to being painted on where it counts.

The thing is, I don't want to buy new clothes because I'm "fat". I want to wait until I'm forced to by maternity needs. The optimistic (and sarcastic) part of me thinks - hey with my luck I'll buy a new wardrobe, get pregnant and then not be able to wear it for more than the first part of the season. The cheapskate* side of me answers back, well then, if you're going to get pregnant, you should just wait and keep wearing what you currently have. The realistic side of me thinks none of my pants are going to fit (for one reason or another) and I'm going to have to buy new ones anyway so just get over myself and go shopping already.

Currently, the cheapskate side of me is winning. Guess that means I need to get my butt in gear so I can fit into my current clothes. Now all I have to do is convince the cheapskate side that coughing up the dough to resume Pilates classes is a better investment than new clothing.

*The cheapskate side is aided and abetted by my increased lack of enjoyment in clothes shopping. Maybe I'm old and crotchety, but shopping has become more of an exercise in frustration and not a pleasure like it once was. If I don't like the styles, I don't like the color choices. Or the way things fit. Or the fabric. Or how much they cost (oh wait, there's the cheapskate side popping up).

Hey, does anyone want to volunteer to be my personal shopper? I'll try on most anything once. And I'll laugh at myself. I promise. Seriously, you name the date, time, and place; I'll show up and you can dress me. I'd prefer somewhere in Richmond or the Williamsburg Outlets, Northern Virginia at the furthest. Just think, you'd get all the fun of shopping without incurring any expense to yourself. I'll even spring for lunch. Whadda' ya' say?

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