Selling a stranger’s clothes

These were THE jeans. The unstoppable ones. The ones I swore I would wear again one day.

 

4…6…29…

The numbers boggled my mind.

Pencil skirts…low-rise ripped jeans…designer labels…

These styles seem like such a distant memory.

Piece by piece, I pulled items out of the blue plastic tub. Stale and wrinkled, they didn’t provide the fond memories I thought they would. Didn’t make me long for the days when I wore them with flair. I was thin. Very thin. But I didn’t know it at the time. I was insecure. I pinched every jiggle, willing it away. I worked out for hours, desperate to tone, trim, firm. I tried to catch every mirror I could, desperate to like what I saw. Most of the time, though, I didn’t.

Out of curiosity, I pulled one of the shirts over my head. “Medium. This will probably still fit.” After tugging the fabric down over my abdomen, I knew I’d made a mistake. I had a “fat man in a little coat” moment. It was tight. Too tight. As in, I almost got stuck. My rib cage has expanded. My belly has expanded. And you know what? My heart has expanded. Not only am I not the size I was back then, I’m not the person I was back then. I was self involved. Now, I live for two little beings who wipe boogers on me, give me slobbery kisses and call me “mommy.”

Don’t get me wrong. I still pinch my jiggles and judge my wiggles. And when I do catch myself in a mirror around the house, it’s usually so covered in smudges and fingerprints that it’s not really much of a reflection. But that’s ok. My daughter’s give me a pretty accurate view of my body. My toddler loves to blow raspberries on my soft tummy, and it probably wouldn’t sound as funny on taut skin. My preschooler once said I had a “fat bottom,” and when I insisted we find another word, she settled on “cherry.” So now, I have a cherry bottom. How cool is that?

There are times I long for my skinnier self, but I’m finally getting rid of these clothes that I thought I would wear again one day. Not only do they not fit me, but I don’t fit them. I am not the same person. These are a stranger’s clothes. A stranger I’d like to thank for having good taste. At least I can make a nice profit on E-bay.

One Response to Selling a stranger’s clothes

  1. gina entz says:

    Cherry bottom made me laugh. I love it!

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