Jackie Wells-Fauth
It should be clear to anyone who sees me on a regular basis that I will never take the world by storm with my fine fashions. I see clothes as a necessity so that I don’t offend the human eye with a look at what is underneath. Beyond that, clothes don’t really concern me a great deal.
It’s not that I don’t admire fine clothes, I’ve just never had the ability to pick the color and the style that would best enhance me. And, as the years have gone on, it just became imperative to buy things big enough to cover me.
About a year ago, however, I had an intervention concerning my size which was staged by my right leg. That may sound funny, but it is very true. I was having trouble with my left knee which made it necessary to put all the weight of my body on my right leg when I stood up.
The first time I transferred all that weight to the right leg, it responded with, “All right, I think we need to have a little talk. You need to lay off the doughnuts or I’m going to lay off of you.”
For the next three weeks, that leg held protest by hurting worse than the left knee and so I came to the sad conclusion that at least some of me had to go.
Now, for anyone who has tried to lose weight, you know this is no easy accomplishment. I was used to my three helpings at a meal and constant snacking, not to mention my favorite thing: soda pop. I did some research and discovered the things that were the worst for me: sugar, salt, bread, fried foods, etc. In other words, anything I liked was bad for me. I could have fruits and fresh vegetables, but then what was my reason for living?
So for a year, now, I have been trying to school my voracious appetite, eating less at meals, avoiding the sugary snacks and having a messy divorce with my Pepsi…or at least a contentious separation. And all of this just to placate my right leg which didn’t appreciate carrying so very much weight!
Losing weight has been interesting – notice I didn’t say fun- and over the year, I have had some success. Like any addiction, I experience backslides. Occasionally, a Twinkee or HoHo will just be too enticing and I have to start all over again, convincing myself that those carrots are just as good.
The side effect, of course, has been what has happened to my clothes. As time has gone on, I’ve discovered that my clothes are fitting differently. My favorite fat clothes won’t stay in place anymore and pretty much everything else is a little looser than it used to be. I was told repeatedly that the best thing to do was get rid of all the fat clothes, but I have not done that for two reasons. One, I like those clothes, even if they are kind of baggy now. They stretched with me over the fat times and they deserve to hang around now. Reason two, of course, is that with all weight loss, it could easily come back. If my right leg is not vigilant, I could slip back into old habits and then I’ll need those clothes.
This attitude did not please my Aunt Jean. If you knew this lady, you would know that she valued good appearance. And when she saw me after a long period of absence, I think she was a little chagrined (she never got to angry or horrified) to see me wearing my beloved baggy clothes. The only pants I’ve completely quit wearing is the pair that will no longer stay on when I stand up. Everything else is still serviceable in my mind, but not in Aunt Jean’s.
She had a hard time figuring out a way to broach this subject, since she is, above all things a very polite and correct woman. And sadly, this last month, we lost her at the age of 91.
In her honor, I have begun working on getting clothes that are less baggy, but probably no more fashionable than ever. But it will always hold a special place in my heart that her last concerns for me were about the clothing of her most unfashionable niece.
The last words my Aunt Jean said to me as we parted for the last time were concise and to the point. What did she say? “Go shopping.”
Alright, Jean—but I’m not getting rid of my fat clothes!
dropsinthewell 