Category Archives: An ass the size of Rhode Island

“Self-respect is the root of discipline: The sense of dignity grows with the ability to say no to oneself.” ~Abraham Joshua Heschel

Yesterday afternoon I went into The Black Dog to pick something out for Noah. Now a) Having a Noah, is like having a niece or nephew or grandchild or something: I get to buy him all the ‘aballs’ and old man pajamas and things I just deem cute and play with him, all without any of the heavy lifting. And b) The Black Dog is one of the most overpriced places ever to grace God’s green earth. So if one doesn’t mind paying $27 for a t-shirt with a black lab on the front, then I say go for it. I swear that the cotton used for some of that must have tiny flecks of gold, especially after watching a woman shell out $150 for two sweatshirts and a bumper sticker.

While perusing the shelves, I noted that the children’s sizes were considerably cheaper than the adult sizes. Upon further inspection, I picked out a youth size large and hold it up to my chest and note that ‘Hey! This expensive piece of cotton that must be fresh from the gin, actually might fit me.’ And lo’ it did fit in a way that doesn’t show off a muffin top or compress my two boobs into a uniboob. I was pleased. Not only because I wear a youth size large, as I already do some shopping in the junior’s section, but also because I pulled the proverbial wool over the eyes of the Black Dog establishment and saved myself a whopping $4.50; which I then used to purchase my third clam plate. The latter was to celebrate that I could eat three clam plates in 72 hours and still fit into child size clothing.

I’m not exactly what one would call fat or obese, unless this was the seventh grade again, and then I’d be called far worse. But I’m not exactly a size 2 or a size 8 for that matter. As far as I’m concerned, I can easily run a 5K and slip into a dress from Anthropologie or Forever 21, so really, why worry? Especially since the Great Ephedra Disaster of 2005, I’m perfectly content in eating and working out and keeping the two at some sort of equilibrium so that I don’t feel like I might be in desperate need of stomach stapling each and every time I have a filet o fish.

My rationality on this subject only comes after near tears last week in the Target dressing room when a dress fit perfectly everywhere besides my boobs. Suffice it to say that the next size up made it look like I painted a burlap sack with pink stripes and added pockets to jazz the number up a bit. When I mentioned this to El Madre, she gave me that skeptical ‘uh, no you’re just fat with broad shoulders look.’ But really I am built like a linebacker – it’s really hot. Today at Banana Republic, while trying on a blazer, she finally believed that no, my boobs are just huge by remarking, loudly, “Wow, you’re boobs are huge.” Precious, I know.

That said and even with any respite logic, I still am harboring some sort of dislike towards myself. Even though I can shop with ease, I still feel like I could look better. For every item of clothing I purchase in a junior’s size, thus ‘cheating’ the man out of $10, there is a blazer or shirt that leaves a lovely gape between the 2nd and 3rd button. Or a slight pull at the shoulders when I lift my arms. Either way, I’m going to be pragmatic and say that something’s got to give, and for once it’s not my waistband. For even though I am perfectly content, I still feel like I could be and would like to be better.