On Saturday I went shopping for a dress for a friend's May wedding. (I was going to wait until I was all stressed out about it, but I had a revelatory realization that: how much weight can I really lose or gain in 4-6 weeks?)
It was one in a string of slightly eye-opening experiences, in that I kept grabbing the size I associate with myself, then the size below it... then having to send the saleswoman back for the next size down. Some of the designers didn't actually make dresses in sizes small enough for me.
It was weird.
Now, I suspect some of this is owed to the fact that no designer anywhere wants to agree on a size about anything, ever. Seriously, one Ralph Lauren "Lauren" dress I tried on in "size B" fit like most of the other designers' stuff at least two sizes up (we'll call it "size D"). I ended up with a "size A" dress, though the saleswoman made a point of saying that that designer made things "big."
So I really don't come away knowing anything, do I?
Well, I know I didn't quite look right in the mirror. Our only full-length mirror at home is inside the door of our book closet (yes, book closet). That's out in the living room, and I am not one to make a habit of parading about mostly naked. So when I disrobed in the dressing room, I did a bit of a double-take. "Oh. Huh. Oops," was basically my train of thought.
ON THE OTHER HAND, it is a department store dressing room we're talking about, and aren't those notorious for slimming effects?
Again, I really don't know anything, huh?
I know my bras are too big right now, like, whoa. Except when they're not? And it might all be slipping straps and crazy brain?
I know I walked home after I went shopping, lest I gain one ounce, despite the fact that I could gain well into several ounces, nay, a pound or three, and the dress would still fit. And despite my earlier realization that four weeks cannot a dress size make or break.
I know that I am measuring the time running up to this wedding in a back-and-forth hopscotch of I should gain weight/I should lose weight/I should gain/I should lose, because it's in Atlanta, which means seeing my parents, which means... complicated psychological stuff: I want people to worry, I want no one to ask me about it, I want people to see I'm underweight, I want no one to know I'm not okay, everyone already worries and knows I'm not okay, oh Quantum Field I don't want to get into it.
Hm. Well. At least it isn't Passover again, right? Right. And at least I ended up paying 10% of the total cost of the dress. Seriously. Ten percent. Thank you, gift cards and pre-sales (not that I fully understand what that is).