Today I took the bus downtown to go shopping at a trendy store. I had a great coupon and I was super duper excited. I looked around a picked out my selections.
Then I entered my dressing room. The lovely sales girl, who was so cheery and so nice, told me, "I picked a few things out I thought you might like; they're hanging on the left there for you!" Seemed harmless. I looked at what she brought in; a pair of shorts, two shirts, two pairs of pants, and a dress-- I wasn't really interested in any of them, so I just sort of pushed them to the side and started trying on my selections. But then the girl's choices started staring at me. And they started talking. They said, "Look at my size... look at my tag... just take a peek... you know you want to!" The best decision for my continued recovery (and sanity) would have been to hand the clothes to the sales girl and say, "I'm not interested in these, would you please take them away?" but instead I gave in to the "size crazies." I HAD to know what the sizes were, not because I cared to try them on, but because I wanted to know what size the sales girl THOUGHT I wore or ASSUMED I wore based on simply looking at me. So I gave in. And I looked.
I know what you're thinking... catastrophe. If she brought me something too big ED could have jumped in to say, "You obviously look really fat today." And if she brought me something too small ED could have said, "See? You really shouldn't be bigger than size __." It really could have been bad.
But after I looked at the sizes I started laughing. She brought me pants that were three sizes apart, shirts in two different sizes, a nice even medium for the dress, and shorts that looked small enough to fit a chihuahua.
And then the epiphany happened: nobody can tell what size I wear. Unless I'm standing with a tape measure around me and a chart of that brand's sizing system right there, nobody can tell. So, why does it matter if I wear a small or a medium? What does it matter if I go home with pants that are a 26 or a 32? And that's just it... it really doesn't matter. All that matters is that I am comfortable. In that moment, I totally kicked ED out my head, and I ***umed control once again.
So I went home with three shirts and a pair of pants... and even though the pants are a size bigger than all my others, I don't really care because my *** looks hot in them. I celebrated my victory by buying myself a burrito.. and I ate the whole thing.