The Fat Woman Continues the D OR How I Felt Like a Criminal in the Misses Section at Walmart

Warning: Fat Woman will talk about...dieting...AGAIN!  Ranting may be involved.  Plus diet memes.  Lots of diet memes.  If diet memes offend you, this is your big opportunity to click on the x in the upper right hand corner.  Don't say I didn't warn ya!

So I'm on month four of the lifestyle change.  (MONTH FOUR!  Four months.  Sixteen weeks.  112 days.  2,688 hours.  161,280 minutes.  Yes.  I've been thinking about this a lot.)  I've plateaued like four times and each time is worse than the last.  Currently I've lost a total of 37 pounds.  I eat 1000 to 1100 calories a day and I exercise six times a week.  I hate that I've stopped losing weight.  If I weren't going to go to the doctor next month I would be screaming "WHY!  Why am I not losing weight?"  I've looked up all kinds of answers.  I'm not cheating on food portions.  I might not be sleeping enough.  I might not be getting enough vitamin D.  I might have some issues with hormones.

All things I need to take up with the M.D.  Plus he hasn't seen me for 37 pounds and I expect some kind of doctorly happiness over my weight loss.

I want the guy to be enthusiastic, dammit.  I want him to do a cheerleading routine on my weight loss!  I want him to run out into the hallway and scream out that I'm the best patient, ever!  Am I going to be disappointed?  Probably.

 

So this last week I went to get a new pair of pants.  Why?  All my other pairs of jeans are sliding down my ass which isn't a style choice I like to go with.

Although I did some sewing to save myself a little money and also to use the old jeans as working-in-the-garden jeans, even those are too baggy, so they went up on the shelf in the closet because I can't quite bring myself to throw them away...yet.

Therefore I'm in Walmart.  Why am I in Walmart?  Because Walmart is where I usually buy my fat jeans.  You can see my mindset hasn't yet moved into the proper zone.  I literally went to Walmart to buy my fat jeans because it hadn't sunk in that I didn't need to buy fat jeans again.  (Duh moment approaching.)  Without hesitation I went to the fat women's section.  (They call it the women's section because calling it the fat section might not be PC.)  I'm standing there like a doofus because I can't find a size 14.

Yes, I am truly confused.  I look.  I look again.  I look a third time, and then I had to scratch my head.  I think if I was MacGyver, I would have found it.  In fact, I would have used a Swiss Army knife to make a new pair for myself out of old ones.

Then it dawns on me.

I'm in the wrong section.  I was IN THE WRONG FRICKIN' SECTION.  So I surreptitiously slide on over to the misses section.  I expect someone will yell at me like Donald Sutherland in Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

I mean, I'm looking around expecting someone to look at me and ask, "What are you doing here?"  But they don't and I'm all like, "Hey, this must be a meaningful moment."

 

I went to the US Space & Rocket Center to see my daughter graduate from Space Camp the very next day, and my husband who I was meeting there, did not recognize me when he was looking for me.  So it's another meaningful moment.

 

I may be plateaued, but it doesn't mean it's necessarily a bad thing.

 

Fat Woman out.