Shopping.

Or, as my mom would say, chopping...instead of shopping...I don't know why.

Speaking of mom! I love my mom. She is 5 ft 2, 115lbs and has been her whole adult life. Even when pregnant I am sure. Even after being pregnant 6 times. And then she had me. And I am quite bigger than she is. I used to be WAY bigger than she, but the hormones straightened some things out in my late teens. And some hard work after 3 babies straightened some other things out. But I remain much bigger than the petite's section shopper that gave life to me.

I think of her whenever I go shopping. Today I went shopping with my single digit sized friend and was following her around the store, channeling mom. "Try it on- you never know until you try it on." "If you are hemming and hawing, it is just going to sit in your closet." "Get it! It is different, but maybe you need different."

And then I would go into the dressing room for myself. An arm full of stuff. Pants. Tops. Sweaters. Here we go...

1) Curse the lighting. I mean, seriously?!?! The lighting! Straight over head. Allowing shadows to fill my every dimple. Jaundice-ing my pale skin. Mirror smack dab, inches in front of me, reflecting it all back.

2) Swear my new diet is starting that night. I wouldn't even wait until morning and that is a sign that I mean it. Who needs Monday? January? 1st of the month? I so freaking mean it that I am starting now! And I come up with a meal plan while looking at my panty lines surgically imbedded in my ass showing through on my in style MUST BE UP YOUR BIDNESS MATERIAL pants. (Yes, curves need some stretch, but they also need some tough love material holding it in; hiding a few of it's secrets.)

3) Contemplate the names of the pants I am trying on.

OK, I am going to talk about the Curvy Skinny Leg pants I tried on today.

The name makes no sense. Curvy in pants means round bum, bigger hips, full thighs. Thereby I declare Skinny Leg can't also be in the name. So, is the label meaning Skinny Lower Legs? Because maybe I can say Skinny Leg about the area below my knees. Maybe...until I look again... and then I say, well, not REALLY can I say that.

And then putting them on I think, ok. Nice hug. Looks OK. But unfortunately someone came in with a rock, and a file, and some bleach and really did a number on making the pants distressed. Dude. They are curvy. They are distressed enough. Their spanning across my bum will do damage on it's own. No. I will pass. Your rock-of-bleach-rub-out number on the thighs actually ACCENTUATE the size of my thighs. I am trying to buy this nearly-black-it-is-so-blue denim to prevent this ACCENTUATION.

I will try, upon insistence from the dressing room attendant, the Signature Trouser pants, "up one size! you try! you wear!" I put them on...happy they went up without CURVY written on the label. I do them up, look in the mirror, and recall a clown I once saw. His pants went up to his belly button, but never touched his waist. It sat almost as if he were wearing a barrel with suspenders. He would reach down inside his pants and pull up balloons, flowers, puppies....That was how these pants fit me. Yes, they made it over my hips, but they kept going, up, never coming in to meet me. I was frustrated because, well, because I didn't know what to store in my pants to pull out at some appointed time to create a cheer from others. I will have to pass.

I tried on many pairs of pants today, all with different names. Most of them with the name curvy. I wondered why I can't find pants that truly fit me. You haven't reached me, clothing industry, by just writing the name Curvy on everything. There are so many variations of curvy girls. I happen to be the: Full hips, thighs, and bum/small waist/but need the higher rise to hold in my belly pocket that once housed all my joeys. I need the Curvy Small, Yet High Waisted, Kangaroo Pouch Cut jeans. In dark dark blue. Sans distress. Skip the white outline stitching. Please. And you can go ahead and make those in chinos. And cords.

Thank you.