(Remote Posting Means No Pretty Pictures Today. Imagine Fluffy Kittens or something.)
It was something we were warned about, but I didn't pay a whole lot of attention to. Clothing, that is. All around the bariatric community, there are tips on clothing sales, recommendations for thrift stores, even clothing exchanges - but what the heck did I care about such things? I had a closet full of t-shirts, and a drawer full of "goal" clothes that had been picked up for me by my mother-in-law at garage sales over the years. Surely, I was covered, right?
The first rumbling of potential crisis happened when we met my parents to buy Lor's bike. My mother mentioned that my Dad hadn't recognized me at first, which filled me with pride and accomplishment. Then I was deflated by Mom's next comment - "And that shirt! It looks like a tent on you!"
Meant as a sincere compliment, this dismissal of my favorite t-shirt warned me that trouble was on the horizon. Lor has been telling me for weeks that my existing wardrobe is getting a little too large even for fashion-unconscious me. Later on, at home, I pulled another favorite shirt off a hanger and put it on in front of a mirror. I was startled and depressed to notice it now hit me right above the knees. I looked like I was trying to wear a miniskirt. Clearly, it was time for the wardrobe intervention that Lor had been hinting at.
An hour's worth of trying on clothes later, I was completely disheartened. Fully half my shirts no longer fit me "well". I could hang on to them and accept the "tent" look for now, but I was going to have to start cycling them out. I now had exactly 4 t-shirts that were sized correctly. Dress shirts and sweaters and the like? Not a single one fits me right any longer.
But the really depressing part was the drawer where I keep my jeans. I knew my beloved carpenter jeans would no longer work, because they were 48-inch waistlines. I had cleverly hidden a few 44-inch pants in the bottom of the drawers, planning against today, when I could proudly pull them out and show them to Lor, demonstrating my genius and foresight.
But not a single one of them fit, either. I had missed my window. These brand new jeans I had been waiting to wear for years would have to be worn by someone else - they literally slid right off my hips and onto the floor. I tried on every pair of pants I owned, creating a "donate" pile, and anticipating that I would replace the ones that fit into my drawer.
That drawer now stands completely empty, by the way.
Thank goodness it is summer and I can still wear shorts. We went to the local (bariatric group recommeded) thrift store and were able to find a few pairs of 40-inch waistline shorts. (Bafflingly, 40-inch pants did not fit, but shorts did.) The fact that I was now within 2 inches of my decades-long goal of a 38-inch waistline was not as nearly as exciting as it should have been - it was more than offset by the fact that I was having to go clothes shopping - and I knew that, within a few weeks, I was going to have to do it again. I was not buying these clothes, really. Just sort of renting them.
Thanks to my LootCrate subscription, I can count on one new geek-themed shirt a month, but I can only wear a shirt so many times in a month before it develops holes. The same vanity that used to force me to only wear sweats rather than buy 50-inch waistline pants is now operating in reverse - I refuse to buy sweats to wear instead of shorts or jeans. What is the point of losing weight just so I can wear nothing but track pants?
Or shirts that fit like tents for that matter?
Cursing The Day I Became Fashion-Aware,