Life In The Slow Lane, Or Why I'm Not Let Out Much

I'm not overweight.  I'm just nine inches too short.
~Shelley Winters

So, I went to the Guthrie Theatre in Minneapolis on Monday evening for dinner and a concert. I spend my life on a farm, in a barn so the wardrobe is limited. And that is being charitable. Being the prepared individual that I am I decided Monday morning that I should try on my 'good clothes' because somehow 25 lbs found me this winter. If someone out there lost them, I found them and you may have them back. OK, back to point. No way, think stuffing a sausage.

Well now, seeing as I am a calm and prepared person, I didn't panic. I had a couple of hours free in my day to buy something for my excursion to the big city, where I would actually be placed among a herd of humans.

Has anyone else noticed how ugly clothing has become? What's with pant legs that are so wide three sets of legs could fit into one? I am short & fat. Wide pant legs make me look like a clown, they are not, as we are so often told by skinny fashion designers, slimming. Take my word for it. They're not.

I have developed a weird shape. Let's call it The Golden Delicious Apple Shape. Round at the top and tapering . Somewhere along the way I look like I ate the whole thing and it settles around my middle. This does not make for easy clothes fitting for a short person. It is assumed if you buy my size that you are six feet tall. A whole other pair of pants could be made from what puddles around my feet. It is also assumed, perhaps correctly as I look odd, that if you wear this size, you have the butt and thighs to go along with it. I don't. So I have sagging butt and bagging thighs in my couture.

My tortured brain is spinning after several trips to the dressing room. Mostly from having a panoramic view of what has become my body. Crap. Back to point. I need to walk through the maternity clothes each time I trek to the dressing room. I think, pregnant women have big bellies, but it isn't assumed everything else is as big as their gut. Hmmmm, I think I'm onto something.

I find a nice pair of slacks that are just wide-legged instead of WIDE-LEGGED and make my way once again to the torture chamber disguised as a dressing room. Voila, success. They feel a little big, but I'm tired of this merry-go-round and call it good.

So the time to leave approaches, and being the prepared person I am, I start to dress. I have a puddle of pant leg on the floor. I don't remember this from the dressing room. I guess I was so thrilled with the upper part of the equation I neglected to look down. I have a whole five minutes, no problem. Off they come and I do a quick slip stitch hem and hope they aren't too obviously off from one leg to the other. Perfect!

We take the drive into town, park and get out to walk over to the theatre. Something is amiss. My pants want to fall down. Not too bad, but they are slipping. I manage to make it to the restaurant and my seat without losing my drawers. 

Time to get to our seats in the theatre. By now I am feverishly trying to keep my pants up as I attempt to retain some semblance of dignity. Did I mention they felt a little loose when I tried them on? It seems the fabric has 'give' and every time I sat, it gave. A lot. During the break I learned a new walk. Hands in pockets, firmly pulling upward as you move along stiff-legged. Kept my pants up. I looked like a penguin.

Lesson learned? I need to stay on the farm, away from civilized company. I really do.