by Jana Barrett

Created on: August 11, 2008   Last Updated: August 14, 2008

I wasn't always a plus size. When I met my husband I was quite svelte. I put my life in his hands and this is the thanks I get. I shouldn't be surprised-I've seen how he takes care of his shoes-what made me think he'd take any better care of my appearance? Of course it is not fair to blame it all on him, but I will have to say after two years of dating and eating pizza three nights a week and then delivering into his hands three little girls, he did have a part in it.

So, it was time to pick out clothes for that ever so special office party and I found myself in the plus-size section at an upscale retailer. I could barely get between the racks! I motioned to the sales clerk whose name was Beulah (she made me look like twiggy-good move on personnel's part-I now feel motivated) and said, "Isn't this the plus-size section?" "Yes, it is dear. How can I help you?" Beulah politely replied.

"For starters you can call maintenance and get them to move these racks back about three feet! How are we supposed to move in here? Don't we feel bad enough being in the fat section in the first place without them making us feel claustrophobic?" She batted her big false eyelashes at me and smiled, "Well, I had never thought of that before." She turned around and took half of the velour sweatsuits down with her ample rear end. I saw her grab a quick stress related chomp on a Goo Goo Cluster before she disappeared behind a rack of paisley muumuus.

So, unassisted I spent the rest of my quest searching for the perfect outfit that would make me look slim, trim and gorgeous. To my dismay most of what I found made me look my Uncle Goober. In a fleeting moment I caught the maintenance man measuring the girdle rack. I held up a sequined muumuu and asked, "Do you think this will make my butt look fat?"

"oh, no you don't," he sputtered as he backed away, "You aren't getting me in the middle of that old routine, the last lady that asked me that impaled me with a purse rack-ask somebody else lady!" And he was gone.

There wasn't much to choose from. I don't look good in shantung-the shine makes me look like a submarine. I don't look good in velvet-last time I wore it someone sat on me thinking I was the sofa. I simply will not wear satin because it makes me slide out of the chair into the floor. The last time that happened it cost me a fortune because one guy sued me for his hernia operation and the tow truck bill was astronomical.

I just left the clothing department and began to wander aimlessly.

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