THIS Is Me... (25 page)

  Chicago Kayla is okay, but we're just not the same, and usually after talking to her I feel worse anyway because I miss her so much. 

  And so I'm going shopping...
as a distraction.
  I have to go shopping today alone because Mack is in New York for the night, and I'm left here alone, which is fine.  Really it is.  He's totally allowed to have a life, and I want him to have a life.  I just hate that Mack having a life means I have less of a life.  Ugh.  Selfish Suzanne I know, but I can't help it.  Mack is my Mack, and when he's not around I miss him.
  So, I'm going shopping for underwear of all friggin' things.  I swear to god-
underwear
.  I'd like to pretend that only my belly is growing but it's simply not true.  My ass is definitely getting bigger, and I really can't deny it anymore.  My boobs are getting huge too.  Quite frankly, I kinda like bigger boobs, not that they weren't big enough before, almost distractingly so, but before I could wear a nice black blouse and they didn't seem so big. 

  Now, I have huge boobs which I'm allowed to have, though this is slightly marred by the fact that my ass is bigger which seems totally unfair.  My ass was always biggish to begin with and now it's bigger.  Ugh... Pregnancy sucks.
 

*****

  After checking my make-up and the best air-brush job I can possibly do with my limited resources, I hop in a waiting cab for the mall. 

  Fairfield Mall has department stores for big-sized underwear woman and there are even a few lingerie shops if I feel like torturing myself today, which I really don't.  But why not go in and look... and yearn.  Ha!  I'm going shopping again, but with total sanity.  Finally.
  So I'm here and people have already noticed me though they're not staring too obviously.  A few people have looked at me already but I've turned my head and hair to hide my face and I'm walking quickly.  No need to give them a show for long. 

  I know I look weird.  I know my face is scarred and still a little pink under the make-up and I know my limp is very noticeable which is my fault completely, but I couldn't help it.  I had to wear a pair of killer heels for emotional support.  I HAD to. 

  The problem?  Balance.  It's weird how a growing belly really does throw off your balance in heels.  Actually, now that I think about it I'm kind of over compensating my belly by walking strangely with my spine pushed backward so I don't lean too far forward on these super high heels; heels which now seem a little ridiculous in my present condition.  Dammit.
  Okay, so shoe shopping first before bigass underwear shopping.  Yay!  Shoes.
  Limp-walking to the closest shoe store, I notice it’s clearly for older women, or for women who like comfortable shoes, or maybe for women who are already tall and don't need to flaunt their height.  Huh.  I see nothing greater than a 1 inch ‘what's the point?' heel, so I quickly move on.
  Lingerie store.  Nope.  Not ready yet.  I need 'Awesome won't kill me' heels first.  Okay.  Hobble.  Hobble. 

  Wow.  Funky all black, black light, sexy funky, kinda Goth store.  I
really
love black but I wonder how weird a 30 year old scarred, pregnant woman would look entering... too bad.  I'm doing it anyway.
  Ahhhh... Black.  I love black.  Black is good.  Black hides my previously hide-able bodily nooks and crannies that are now amazingly less a problem since my boobs are bigger and my ass is huge, my stomach is growing and my face and leg are warped.  Giggle.
  “Can I help you find anything?”  Jump.  Yup, I'm still a loser.
  “Yes... Do you have any larger sizes?”  I had total confidence with that question- I'm proud of myself.
  “Yeah, sure,” says the poster-child gothic princess.  Holy shit!  I would kill to look like her any day.  Every day.  Always.  Okay, maybe not now 'cause I'm too old, but when I was young like her I would’ve.  Like if I had been able to dress myself at her age; I would have loved to be like her at least for a day or two.  She's beautiful. 

  Following her to the back of the store where the music seems way too loud, I'm mesmerized by everything about her.  She is so perfectly skinny.  Her waist is tiny, she has a skinny girl butt, but amazingly she has smallish perfectly proportioned breasts as well.  She's perfect and it's really nauseating to stare at her actually. 

  I wish
my
belly was flat and I could wear a small top that raises with my arms to flash the flat perfection of my stomach and waist.  What the hell?  Oh.  She probably works out.  Huh.  Maybe I should eventually give that a try.
  “Here's our Plus-Size section, and it's pretty good.  We have a larger selection than most stores because even heavy chicks like looking good.  Sweet shoes by the way,” she smiles.
  Oh my god, she's just so lovely.  Her eyes are green and though her hair is dyed pitch black she doesn't look weird; she looks perfectly pale with green eyes that reach out and smack you in the face.
  “Thank you,” I whisper embarrassed.  And why am I suddenly embarrassed?  I'm not sure.  I mean I know I'm pregnant, but I feel too old or too uptight to be here.  There's something off, but I don't think it's my sanity.  I think I'm still okay with that.
  “Let me know if you need any help,” she smiles again.  God, she's just so pretty, I wish I looked like her.  Singing, she walks away.
  What the hell is this song? It's horrible and not because I'm old.  It just really sucks actually.  There's no consistent beat, and the voice is strangely whiny and the music seems to put me on edge or something.  But I'm fine.
  Looking through some shirts I see nothing I like.  Not one single thing.  I'm too old for this club-type wear; and really, I would look mental trying to pull off most of this shit.  Ha!  Mack would have to commit me again.  Turning, I spot the dresses and again I'm at a loss.  There is NOTHING for me in here, even though
everything
is my black.  Ugh.
  Shoes?  Ah, boots... I see a pair.  Black, knee-high, side zipper, rich dark leather, 4' wedge-awesomeness.  They look a little biker boot with a girly edge.  They even have a side buckle on the ankle.  Yup.  These I can totally do. 

  Motioning to the lovely girl, holding up the boot and flashing 9 fingers she nods and makes her way to the farthest back.  I'm excited.  I always get excited with shoes, but I'm super excited this time.  I love these boots.  These are 'Suzanne with a twist' boots for sure.
  When she comes back smiling, she leads me to a little bench seat.  Pulling my boots out of the box they smell like new leather.  Deep breath.  Oh yeah, leather scent in my lungs.  I love this.
  “You are so very pretty,” I whisper.  What?!
  “Thanks,” she replies easily. 

  Huh.  I get it, she's super busy.  The store is loud and there are enough people to make her have to split her attention between us, but still... 'thanks'?
  “I'm serious.  You have this awesome body and a beautiful face.  I'm not weird or anything, but you're very attractive and I thought you should know.”
  “Oh, I know.  Everyone tells me I'm gorgeous.”
gorgeous?
“So I'm over it, ya know?”  Huh.  Not really.  I feel like I'm over
her
right now though.
  Pulling on the boots, they fit perfectly.  Yes!  Standing, I'm instantly comfortable.  These boots feel like slippers compared to my killer heels.
  “Um, I'll take them and wear them out if you don't mind.”
  “No problem,” she says as she takes my killer heels and places them in the boot box for me.
  Following her to the check out, I think I'm a little pissed at her.  I know she's young, like maybe 19 or 20 so she probably doesn't know anything about life yet, but still to be so blasé about her looks seems tragic.  Oh!  Actually maybe I'm the problem here because I'm too hung up on looks now.  Shit.  I'm fine.  I'm not freaking out and my sanity is intact, totally.  But I do feel annoyed by this situation.
  “I used to be pretty too.”
  “
Really?
”  Wow.  Why the hell is she so surprised?
  “Yes, really.  Before I was hurt and pregnant, I was thinner and pretty too.” 
  “Okay.  Well, it's $163.39 for the boots,” she says ignoring me.  Okay, I'm more than annoyed now.
  Pulling out my Debit card, I find I'm growing angrier by the second.  Ugh.  Calm down.  I know this is my problem, I know it.  She's NOT the problem, I am.  I know it!
  She still hasn't spoke to me at all.  My card has been swiped, the boot box is in a gigantic bag, the receipt is in the bag, and my card is back in my wallet.  I'm breathing and she's just ignoring me.
  “Look.  I know you don't know me, and I
know
you don't care about what I'm saying, but it's important.  You may not always been so attractive, and it kind of hurts when you're not anymore, so, um... enjoy being pretty while you can.”  There I said it.  Big exhale.  I feel totally better now.
  Pausing for a moment she just looks at me like I'm cracked.  And in all fairness I don't know her and I'm desperately trying to convince her of something she doesn't understand yet, so I probably do seem a little weird to her.
  Fake smiling at me, she says, “Okay.  I'll keep that in mind.  Have a good day,” as she turns her back to me and walks away.
  See, I'm fine.  No freak out just because I was totally dismissed.  I'm good.  I'm wearing my awesome new comfy black 'Suzanne with a twist' boots and I'm okay.  There is no freak out in sight.
  Entering the large department store I need, I walk directly to the lingerie section.  Buying new underwear is awful, but I've been trying to fit my fat ass and growing stomach into my old size for weeks and the elastic just rubs me raw under the belly which is not comfortable in the least.  And the wedgie I get?  Forget it.  It’s like my ass is trying to eat my underwear!  Giggle.

  When I get to the maternity section, I'm stunned.  Every single pair of underwear is white, creamy beige or pink.  What the hell?  Where is my black?  What the hell do I do with pink?  I can't even imagine wearing white or pink, or creamy beige.  Why?  Oh god, if anything’s gonna set me off, it's this.  White underwear?  This is complete insanity.  Giggle.
  Moving back to the normal section, I pick up a 3XL pair of BLACK underwear and exhale.  These should fit for a while, and they'll probably go over my belly for a while too.  Good.  Grabbing 12 pair, I even throw in a 4XL just in case. 
  Walking to the bras I'm faced with the same problem.  The maternity section has cute matching bra and panty sets in lacy pinks, whites and beiges.  I swear to god, I'm gonna lose it over here.  I want ONE black bra.  That's it.  Just one!
  Walking back to the large sized non-maternity section I grab a 36DDD black bra and relax.  If my boobs actually get this big I'm going to fall over anyway so who cares what it looks like.  There is only so much fight against gravity one person can wage.  There is only so much my back can handle before I face-plant.  If I did actually grow to a 36DDD I'd probably be on bed rest anyway, right?  God, I hope so.
  Walking to the counter I'm fine.  Still.  I'm not losing it, and I'm not going to freak over anything.  There’s nothing to freak out over.  I could probably call Mack and even tell him I'm shopping and I'm completely fine, but I don't want to interrupt the sexfest happening in New York.
  Ugh, the girl in front of me is tiny and perfect.  Another one?  Seriously?  Okay, so I may have missed the 'working out makes you look hot like this' memo, or maybe I threw it out by mistake with my take-out menus.  Whatever.  She's hot.  Oh, and look- a matching WHITE lacy bra and panty set of course.  Yuck.  I'm fine.  And she's awesome.
  When it's my turn, I place my huge new underwear on the counter and smile at the middle-aged woman while totally embarrassed by my purchases.
  “We have a large maternity section over there,” she points with a lovely smile.
  “I know.  I was there, but you don't have any black which I absolutely require, so I'm just going to get these.  Is that okay?” Why am I asking permission?  Dammit.
  “Oh, we usually have a few undergarments in black, but not many.  Most women prefer the softer colors while pregnant.” God.  Why?
  “It's fine.  I'll just take these,” I sigh.
  Smiling again, thankfully the kind looking middle-aged woman named Kora doesn't say anything else to me about my undies.  I mean seriously?  Doesn't she know I just want to buy these tent-size drawers as quickly as possible and get them into the bag even quicker?  Why is every single pair on a friggin' hanger?  What is
with
that?  Jesus, it's taking her forever to unhook, fold and bag each pair of my humongous underwear.  Argh...
  After paying with my Debit again I almost laugh at the bill.  I never realized how expensive huge underwear were.  At 12.99 each, times 13 pair plus my massive bra I actually managed to spend over two hundred dollars on underwear!  Christ, even my new 'Suzanne with a twist' boots weren't that much and I'll have these babies forever!  Unlike this underwear, which I'm going to burn in a few months.
 

  Practically running... okay,
limping quickly
from the store, I exhale.  I think that's it for me today.  I'm still okay, but I'm feeling anxiety definitely creeping up, so I think it's time to end my solo shopping excursion before I'm not okay.  I'm handling the few stares and double takes I'm getting, and I'm still okay.  But it is definitely Time. To. Go.
  Walking back into the main mall I need to go home.  I know I'm getting anxious and I know I need a pill, but I forgot them at home because I'm an idiot.  So far so good though.
  Passing another funky clothing store, I figure what the hell?  Shopping online fills a void in me, as Mack would say, but shopping in person is both exhilarating and nauseating at once. 
  Looking around, I see a decent array of black shirts, blouses, skirts and even jeans, NOT that I can fit into any proper sizes at the moment… but maybe afterward?
  Grabbing a large, swingy cotton peasant-type dress in black, I think I found something I can fit into and actually wear today.  It lands just lower than my knee so it'll look pretty cool with my new boots. 

  Maybe this whole shopping experience is my unconsciousness telling me that though I must stick with my blacks, it's time to branch out from my typical conservative wardrobe.  Maybe this whole situation is my mind's way of telling me it's time to be different than I was.  Maybe this is my way of changing my outer self to match all the physical changes I've had to endure these last few months.  Maybe this is me trying to change who I am now.  Maybe?  I don't know but I'm shaky now.
  Abruptly leaving the store, I know I
need
to get home.  I've had enough.  I'm starting to think in circles, and I'm not as clear as I usually am.  Well, this is a step.  At least I recognize I'm less clear in the head.  Before, I didn't know when I was strange.  I just was.
  Pushing past people I'm just desperate to get back to the front doors to hail a cab.  I need to get home before I have to call Mack for help.  I need to get home to my anxiety medication.  Ugh.  Why does everyone walk so slow in a mall when they know people are right behind them trying to pass?