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I knew that I had gained fifteen pounds within the span of a year but it didn’t really hit me until now. <\/p>\nI think they call it reality check. I knew that I had gained fifteen pounds within the span of a year but it didn’t really hit me until now. <\/p>\n
Remember this dress? I wore it only once — during the June ball of 2001. It fit me perfectly — snug as a glove — and I looked and felt wonderful. <\/p>\n
Fast forward to a year and a half later: I need a dress to wear to Brian’s office Christmas party tomorrow. No worries. I had the perfect dress to wear. Practically brand new, only worn once, and very elegant. I had a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t fit but, what the heck, I try it on anyway. I wasn’t going to try it on at all. I figured I’d find out tomorrow when we got ready for the party. Brian had a point, though. Better find out now than later and be stricken with panic when you only have five minutes left to get ready and still haven’t a clue what to wear. <\/p>\n
So guess what\u2026 You don’t have to be a genius to figure this out. It’s too small. Big surprise (I’m being sarcastic here)! I was really hopeful, too. But ![\"](\"http:\/\/www.brubakers.us\/oldpics\/2001group.jpg\")
hope does you no good when you’ve turned into “the chubby girl.” How depressing is that!? I was truly devastated\u2026 Not for lack of anything to wear, mind you (the third dress I tried on fit) because I have enough evening wear to not have to run to Dillard’s everytime we have to attend a fancy soiree. I was devastated because my favorite evening dress no longer fit. <\/p>\n
Speaking of which, you want to know what’s even more drepessing? The second dress I tried on has never<\/u> even been worn and it doesn’t fit already! Can you think of anything more depressing? <\/p>\n
The process of trying on the dress was pretty amusing, though. I just have to laugh because, if I don’t, I will cry. I take it out of the closet, which was a struggle in itself because it was clear at the back of the closet as I had acquired quite a few more clothes since I last wore it. I tear the regulation, standard-issue dry cleaning plastic. I put on the dress with foolish confidence. I turn around and ask Brian to zip it up. I sense Brian’s hesitation and, from the mirror on the headboard, I can see a befuddled look on his face. <\/p>\n
“It doesn’t fit, huh?” I asked with child-like innocence, even though I knew better. “It’s not that,” Brian says with a this-can’t-be<\/em> expression on his face. “There’s like a three-inch gap in the opening.” <\/p>\n Brian is clearly thinking, \u201dHow could she have fit in this dress last year? She hasn’t grown that much! I must be hallucinating.\u201d <\/p>\n If you need proof that love is blind, this is it right here. “They shrank it!” he exclaims, the only explanation he can come up with. God bless him! <\/p>\n “No, baby.” I explain, “The dry cleaners didn’t shrink it. I just got fat.” And that’s the sad truth. <\/p>\n I wonder if people really go back to the dry cleaners and holler and yell about their clothes shrinking when in reality they just needed to accept the fact that it’s not their clothes that have gotten smaller, it’s their bodies that have grown enormous? <\/p>\n