Always a bridesmaid: part 2

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: wedding/bridesmaid dress shopping ain’t fun for a fatty. Given that I’m a bridesmaid in about 7492 weddings over the next year, I had to go dress shopping yet again last night.

I was actually feeling pretty confident, having lost about 15 pounds since the beginning of January. I couldn’t fit any of the sample dresses, of course, but hey, not everyone is a size 2, I reasoned. After perusing all of the dresses, I selected one that I think will cover the pooch well enough (I love you, empire waists) and won’t make me look like a total whale – it’s actually a very pretty dress in a beautiful deep navy.

Then I went to pay.

Because I had to order a plus-size dress (which, the salesgirl said, amounts to about size 14 in street clothes), I had an added charge tacked onto my dress. It was almost a third the cost of the dress!

I understand the reasoning behind it. Extra fabric = extra dollas. But that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing to be told that you have to pay a significantly higher price because you couldn’t stop porking out on Cheetos. Mortifying, is what it was.

I cried the whole way home.

It’s not the bridal salon’s fault. They have no control over what a dress designer charges. I could tell that they felt awful for me having to pay almost $50 more than the other bridesmaids. Fifty dollars isn’t a lot in the grand scheme of things, but my chequebook has already taken a hit from all of the weddings I’ve been involved with (plus my own wedding expenditures).

My cheeks red as hell, I forked over the $50 and did what any fat girl would do to displace the embarrassment – I cracked a joke about it (while fighting back tears and praying my payment would go through).

Le sigh. I’m definitely not looking forward to wedding dress shopping now. Someone pass me a drink. Or ten.

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Goin’ fishin’

I recently read an interview with Jessica Alba, in which she claims to have a muffin top (plus cellulite and stretch marks). Bitch, please. Don’t try to act like you’re one of us.

I hate, hate, hate when slim women fish for compliments. “I am so fat,” one of my friends always sighs, while pinching the 0.01 inch of fat on her belly. I, meanwhile, am supposed to react with horror and assure her that she is not, indeed, fat (oh, the humanity!).

Being fat, after all, is something no one aspires to (except those women who cater to chubby chasers and eat 10,000 calories a day — but that’s a whole ‘nother story).

I understand that everyone has their own insecurities, but calling yourself fat when you’re a size 2 just makes me feel even shittier about myself. If you think you’re fat, what the hell does that make me? Morbidly obese? Venturing into whaleaphant territory?

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What I’m thinking when a skinny girl calls herself fat

I rarely say anything when a woman makes comments like that. I just play the role of the dutiful friend and act shocked that she would even suggest such a thing, because those complaints are always unfounded. There have been a few times, however, when I’ve retorted with something like, “If you’re fat, then what does that make me?” Usually, the person will then avoid eye contact and change the convo. Mission accomplished.

Until you’ve had to endure the embarrassment of breaking a chair (true story) or waddling your way into a plus-size department, you have no right to bitch about your weight to a fat girl. It’s just cruel.

(Side note: When I Googled “derogatory terms for fat people,” it came back with whaleaphant. I’m pretty sure that’s my new favourite word.)

The return of the dreaded fat-girl photo

In the grand scheme of all things wedding, my ever-fluctuating weight isn’t a huge factor…

…until dress shopping.

Despite being engaged for all of 10 seconds, I have already gone dress shopping, accompanying my friends who are also getting married soon. I wasn’t planning on trying anything on because a) I would rather stick fire pokers in my eyes than try on clothes, let alone intricate wedding dresses and b) I really, really, REALLY hate wearing dresses. (If it was appropriate to wear jeans and a hoodie every day, I’d be all over that like a fat kid on a Smartie.)

Much to my dismay, the sales associates at the bridal store and my friends insisted that I try on at least one dress (thanks, girls!). I finally caved, figuring that at the very least, I could get an idea of which rolls needed the most camouflaging.

I tried on a dress that actually did a decent job of holding in the flub (no easy task), and I thought it looked pretty good — until I saw a photo that my friend had taken of me in the dress.

A dreaded fat girl photo.

I’m not quite sure how it happened. (OK, I’m pretty sure it was the many, many caesars and nachos I enjoyed on various patios this summer.) But somehow, I managed to re-gain a significant amount of weight without realizing it. As I’ve said before, it’s pretty simple, really: bitch got lazy.

Seeing that photo made me want to dive straight for the Cheetos and eat my way into a trans fat oblivion. Rolls everywhere. Body parts bulging out of the dress. Triple chins. I’m already uncomfortable with the idea of having all eyes on me at my wedding. I don’t want to add to that by worrying about which seam is going to pop open first.

Not only that, but many of the dresses I actually liked weren’t available in my size, and I was left with only a few tarp-like frocks to choose from. This is one of the few times I actually cursed my bootay.

Finding a wedding dress is tough. Finding a dress for someone who hates wearing dresses is tougher. Finding a dress at this size is damn near impossible. Let’s just say my motivation to lose weight has kicked up a notch.

Here comes the bride: big, fat and wide

If it seems as though I’ve been MIA for the past few weeks, it’s because I have been super-duper, no-social-life busy. Despite being on holidays for two weeks, I’ve had little to no time to prepare clean meals or exercise my bootay off. Just typing that makes me a sad panda.

On the plus side, though, I have some very exciting news: I’m engaged! My lovah popped the question while we were watching the sunset at my favourite spot on the lake (*tear*).

Now I have even more motivation to whip my fat ass back into shape. For real this time.

More posts a’comin’. Stay tuned, folks. I’ve got some gooders planned.