I loathe fashion stores, particularly, smaller boutique types that are designed specifically for very small women. I came across one of these stores during a shopping expedition this weekend and walked in to get an idea of what was inside. By no means, was I stupid enough to assume I could pull off any of those outfits! Most of them are so skimpy, I would be walking around with my fanny hanging out – presuming I could get the damn dress up my exploding thighs. It was an exploratory visit more than anything else! Such was my rationale at the time.
The immaculately dressed hostess standing at the door welcomed me with a smile. I was immediately ushered in and offered a glass of champagne. My refusal and short explanation that I don’t indulge in alcohol was met with a frown but the professionalism of this mannequin-type hostess never wavered.
Once inside, I had the luxury of two sales assistants running to my aide, one proffering friendly advice on what the current trends are, the second, assuming that I am buying a gift for someone else, enquired about the person I am looking to buy a present for. All the while, assistant number one kept eying me strangely, until the moment when she felt the need to ask me a question.
When is your baby due?
I think the look on my face said it all as assistant number two quickly moved away from the firing line. Too horrified to fight, I walked out of the store with my head down.
As if that wasn’t enough, I still chose to go to another fashion store, this time finding dresses in my size, only to be met with very large four way mirrors in the change rooms. Those mirrors don’t lie.
I have become The Fat Girl.
I remember a time when I was the lanky, skinny one, modelling at fashion shows and eating whatever I wanted! Now, when I meet people I haven’t seen in a while, I am told that I am looking “healthy” and have really “filled out”. Sigh.
Dejected, I got home and relayed the story to Mr G.
Him: “Sorry babe. Must I get you one of those doughnuts you like?”
Me: Screaming. “I don’t bloody want doughnuts!”
Him: “Don’t get upset with me. I never said you looked pregnant. If I was there, I would have laughed”.
Me: “How the hell would laughing at me, make me feel better?”
Him: “Oh, I didn’t say I would make you feel better, I would have just melted the ice”.
Me: “You are such an arse. Now go and get me that damn doughnut”.
I will get on that wagon from Monday ?