December 13, 2010


This is going to be brief, and to be honest, I'm writing this while on the toilet because I'm a proud multi-tasker.

I took a short, yet semi-traumatic shopping trip with my mother yesterday. I say semi-traumatic because I was able to walk away from said shopping trip with an awesome pair of shoes and a cute sweater. The traumatizing part was two-fold.

First I was hoping to squeeze into a new bra, most of the ones I have now are "well loved". Bra shopping has always been a pain in the ass for me.
I've never been properly measured for a bra. I couldn't tell you if I'm a B cup or a C cup to save my life. I fluctuate. My boobs are the first place I gain weight (yay!) but the first place I lose it (boo!) so there's never really a set size to the girls. The only thing that's constant is the size of the band around my bust.
Which leads me to a complaint I've had ever since I hit puberty. Being fat and having small tits. Does this sound offensive? Good.

I've often envied my fellow large and lovely ladies for their glorious racks. Big girl shirts fit nicely over their chests, they fill out bras like cupcakes and frosting. And have you seen a corset on a large, curvy woman? WOW! Like a romance where the couple is meant to be.

Me, on the other hand, I've always been on the small side of the tit spectrum. While my hips and ass have been the focus of a lot of compliments, no one (save for my dear, loving boy) has ever complimented me on my boobs. Which is fine, I'd rather people focused on my shining personality above my boobs. But I haven't been able to properly fit into large lady clothing because clothing manufacturers think that if you're over a size 14 that you're more than well equipped in the bust.

Coy and demure in 2006
Shopping for a shirt that's cute and a little flirty is a pain in the ass. If it has the slightest "V" in the neckline, I find myself having to either stitch it closed a little, or I have to wear a tank top under it. I could be extra brave and just let the shirt do its thing naturally... but then I'd constantly be worried about wardrobe malfunctions.
I find myself shopping for push-up bras or padded bras so that my clothing fits correctly, because I don't want to always wear a T-shirt to hide my girls.

So after trying on two or three bras, and realizing that if you're over a 38B, and under a 40DD there are no cute bras for you. YOU are supposed to wear a bland, white, no frills, granny bra (no offense to hot grannies out there). While I'm possibly a 40B or a 40C, I couldn't find a cute bra with polka dots, or a demi-cup with a lacy pattern to save my life. The bra I liked that looked good on me was an EXTREME PUSH UP bra (This is what it said on the tag). It was comfortable, but not EXTREME. Why? Because the padding in the bottom of the bra that made it extreme, was taking up the space that my boobs did not. So it looked like a regular bra, and it still didn't fit me correctly. I was a little dejected.

Yeah, I took a photo because I thought the EXTREME push up bra
looked hilarious on my non-extreme boobs.

We made a quick trip to another store where I was rewarded with a pair of boots that I had coveted months prior. High five to 50% off sales AND awesome mothers. But there was something I really wanted, something that I've been searching high and low for.... a sweater dress in a fat lady size. I found one, but it wasn't "quite" my size. I tried it on anyway and was disappointed that it looked more like I'd tried to squeeze into a sock than a sweater dress. 
I have several pairs of leggings that I'm enamored with. I'd love to wear more dresses, but I don't because tights are a pain in the ass. So leggings are these amazing things that allow me to wear dresses AND not have to deal with the BS that are tights. They also have me looking high and low for things to wear OVER them.
This is where the sweater dress comes in. After much staring, debating and twirling in the dressing room, I gave up the search (for the time being) for an appropriate sweater dress.

While my mom and I were walking to the car, I asked her a question that has been rolling around in my brain for a while.
"Why do you think that calling someone "fat" is an insult?"

This resulted in a quizzical look and her replying "because they feel that way on the inside, or maybe were fat at one time in their life?"

Which really wasn't what I meant, but it's a question that I want to get to the bottom of. 

Why is calling someone fat an insult? Fat is an adjective. It describes a noun.
Yelling "Hey, you're skinny!" isn't an insult. Why should saying "Hey, you're fat!" be one either? 
Why we're so afraid that someone is going to call us an adjective is beyond my scope of comprehension. Are our collective thoughts on our bodies so warped that FAT has become a four-letter word?
My mom was more interested in a clever retort to someone saying "hey you're fat". This is yet another reason I love her. I'm going to start compiling a list of comebacks. I'm sure Joy Nash has a great list of comebacks...

Fat Rant 3

While this post was meant to be brief, and it looks like I was a little more verbose than I would have liked, I want to think about this more, though. It ticks me off that I've ever felt insulted by some idiot trying to be mean by throwing grammar at me.

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