The way I see myself is unswerving.
It's the same image I've had in my head since I was a 92 pound anorexic teen. It's a dumpy freckled girl who needs to cover up.
So when we ordered staff t-shirts this month, I automatically selected a large because I am large and I'm just damn lucky it's not an xl any longer like it was last year.
When the shirts came in, they drowned me. The shoulders are way down my upper arms, the big boxy shirts are much too long and baggy. I look like I'm wearing my husband's shirts. I should have ordered a medium, which I would never even consider because I am not medium. I am large. That's my label. That's all I see and all I am convinced anyone else sees as well.
I have a new pair of jeans. They fit and are cute and I'm certain they fit because they're vanity sized to make fat people like me think they can really wear a 10 comfortably. Because I'm a large.
So what I've done is what the kids in my class do when their shirts are too big. They gather a wad of fabric in the back, twist a ponytail holder around it and make a ducktail. So here I am. In my large. WIth a ducktail.
Today we're celebrating Dr. Seuss so doing something goofy with my shirt seems apropos. Especially since I'm not a major Seussian disciple. The kids are coming in their jammies with stuffed animals. It should be delightful and crazy and cozy. And I'll try to remind myself that the shirt with the linebacker shoulders doesn't fit me anymore. My image in my head doesn't fit either.