Jen is good to go shopping with, because she dresses me, and doesn’t make fun of my chub. I always try to get dressed by myself, but some of those dresses are so big, and I find myself bleating pathetically out of the cracked open dressing room door, “Jen? Um. I’m stuck… can you come help me?”
She’ll find me headless; engulfed in layers of taffeta that I can’t mangage to get over my entire body, arms stuck in “Raise the roof!” and flaiing around helplessly, and me bumping into the walls of the always too-small dressing room because I can’t see. And, kindly, she will point out that I need to UNZIP the dress if I need to get it on, BEFORE I try to get into it. I forget sometimes.
We found one dress that gave me what Stu and I called “Speedbump boobs”. I need a dress that will give me two, not just one. One sort of worked, but, alas, the ta-tas ruined everything. Better luck next week.
The lady who baby talked me on the phone ended up being the one who helped me find gowns… and I was treated to more of her coo-ing. SO WEIRD!
Our origional purpose was to get bridesmaid dresses, so we looked for those, too. When, exactly, did fashion get so horrible? We found NOTHING suitable. I think we’re back to plan A.