The highs and lows of parenting and real estate.

A Word About Fashion

We all gain weight differently, right? Some people get bigger in the gut, some in the cankle region, some get excessively large elbows and earlobes, I’m sure. I’m going to tell you where I, personally, gain weight, but only after you swear not to examine me for the evidence the next time I see you in person. Go ahead, put your hand on whatever religious tome will keep you honest (The Bible, The Koran, your mint condition collection of Harry Potter, Twilight and The Hunger Games) and repeat after me:

I, state your name, will not inspect Elizabeth Newlin the next time I see her in person (or even in her Facebook photos like a total internet stalker) for excess fat or largeness in her hip, muffin-top region, lower belly or upper thigh… OH FOR THE LOVE. I just ruined it, didn’t I? I told you where my fatty areas are before I made you promise. *HUFF*

Anyway, when I shop for clothes, I’ve learned just what type of cut will most effectively hide my flaws. I have acceptable arms (probably from lugging around children and regularly hopping fences to break into houses I’m trying to show), so I work toward showcasing my upper body (which I can do pretty well without looking slutty because I’m not what you’d call ‘blessed’ in the chestal area) and masking my mid-region. My mid-region is definitely my problem area. That wouldn’t make me an apple or pear shape, huh? What am I, then? A banana with a giant tumor in the center? Oh, no, I know, a lemon. Hm, I want some lemon bars…

Back to the topic! Stop trying to distract me with delicious body-shape metaphors.

Clothes. So when I’m shopping I look for longish tops with kind of an empire waist. You know what that means; it’s cinched under the boobs and then kind of blousy down from there. You know who else this look really works for? Pregnant women.

I recently had this unfortunate commonality hammered home to me not once, but twice while I was shopping. The first time was at Target and then again just a week ago at Kohls. In both cases I was perusing the women’s clothing area and shuffling through the Petite racks (‘petite’ is kind of a misnomer. You think it means small women, but it really just means short chicks. So the petite lines often carry the blissfully flattering empire waist cut) and moving on to the next rack when I suddenly found a whole bunch of really super cute and totally flattering tops. In fact, it was a suspiciously large enough supply of these tops, that while I was grabbing my size, I examined the tag for some explanation.

And of course I found it: Maternity Tops. I had accidentally stumbled into the Maternity Section that oh-so-unhelpfully butted right up against the Non-gestating Women Section. Of course I dropped the tops like a hot rock and peered around to see if anyone had seen me pick them up. I stifled the urge to mumble loudly, “Not that I’M pregnant! No siree, Bob, totally fetus-free here! Someone buy me an alcoholic beverage!”

I realize it’s all really great for the preggo chicks that Target and Kohls carry maternity clothes and that they no longer have to spray paint giant trash bags in vibrant colors to wear out in public, but I’m telling you now if they don’t start segregating the knocked-up lady wear over to an area that I don’t just accidentally wander into and start perusing one of three things is going to happen:

1. Normal women who just need some designer assistance to hide our flaws are going to start punching pregnant women out of frustration and jealousy over their many attractive options and our lack there-of.

2. I’m just going to start wearing maternity clothing. I may not even cut the tags out like I did with that one maternity shirt I have that I still wear because it’s totally cute and you totally can’t even tell it’s for the preggos.

3. I’m just going to get knocked up again only so I can wear the cute tops like this without humiliation.

Just move the maternity clothes to the area with all the automotive tools, OK? I never go there. It’s not really too much to ask.

Comments are closed.

Comments Closed