I need my Blogger RIGHT NOW and yet, it has forsaken me. Why, Blogger, why are you down when I need to post THIS INSTANT?
So I'll write somewhere else until your triumphant return.
Let me start of by saying I've lost some weight over the last couple of years. I'm currently maintaining at less than I was, but no, I'm still not Kate Moss. However, I'm not Kirstie Alley, celebrating my new-found largeness on cable TV, so by all counts, I'm ahead of the game. Part of this weight change is the important downgrade in t-shirt size from XL to L or sometimes, if I'm feeling a little risque, an M. Or better yet, a lot of the times I wear women's sized t-shirts. Not captial W Women's (i.e. plus-sized) but regular old 'go into the women's department at Macy's and buy what they offer there on the rack' shirts, pants and dresses.
Yes, I said dresses. We'll look at that another time.
Unless I can make amends with how much I love to eat and how damn hungry I get after hockey, I've sort of accepted that this is the size I am, this is how much space I take up in the world. It's not ideal, I'd like to be about 25 pounds less, but right now I'm not. Maybe I will be, someday.
Before I started my current job, which requires me to spend a great deal of time sitting down, I wore some girlie-type jeans and pants, somewhat low-waisted but not so low that you could see any skin. Because my skin, especially anywhere around my ass, is simply not the public's bidness. There is an inherent risk in wearing pants like that in the office, the very real risk that someone could see my skin, that skin around my ass. So I don't wear them here. In fact, I've sort of phased them out of my wardrobe, choosing instead to wear my old baggy shorts (which are now pretty damn baggy, thank you very much) so that nobody is subjected to any part of my bare back or ass.
All of this background, while fascinating, may have you wondering why I am sharing. Here it is: Recently I worked on a Very Big Project. It was kinda fun, kinda hard (because a lot of stuff didn't work or wasn't laid out enough) and naturally, at the end, our friends in marketing threw a small party.
Not expecting much, I stopped by to enjoy a reasonable amount of ice cream and to pick up the free t-shirt I'd forgotten we were going to get. Apparently, I'd requested a Large, which is good, because that's the size I wear.
The woman handing out these t-shirts isn't exactly my best friend at work. Mortal enemy? No, but not my best friend. But I put on my nice face and stepped up to get my hard-earned t-shirt. She looked at the size I'd asked for, and said "Are you sure that's going to be big enough?"
I almost didn't answer but I knew she'd say something else, so I said "yes, that will be fine. That's my size." She of course made another comment, "well, let me know if it's too small," Again, did I not just say that I had in my hot little hand a shirt of the proper size?
I walked away steaming mad, and remain so. Even if I'd asked for an XS, as a fellow woman, it was her honor-bound duty to merely hand me the size I requested, regardless of her own (incorrect) opinion. And for the record, the shirt fits fine, though I'll never wear it now, thanks to her.