The Pandemic Dress Code

So….I have put on the quarantine fifteen…nineteen…twenty-two. And then I stopped weighing myself. I have backed myself in a clothing corner, unfortunately. I refuse to buy larger clothes and I gave away all of my big-lady clothes in April when the stay-at-home orders prompted a mass cleaning of my house. I was in my Kon-Mari folding phase and thought…”I’m skinny, and disciplined. I’m going to free myself of these memories of my larger, undisciplined self since they bring me no joy!”

Kon-Mari was followed with The British Baking Show and my sense of joy moved from nicely folded drawers to the amazing aroma of fresh baked bread. Joy is so fickle like that. Thus, I am two sizes larger and currently fit into a very small selection of clothing. My neighbors that have seen me outside have seen me in one of two pair of jeans, one of two flannel shirts or a Minion blow up costume that I wore to be a living part of our Christmas lights. If I could, I would wear the Minion costume every day. It’s very forgiving of the hips.

I did break down and buy new scrubs since my business requires some level of professionalism. Scrubs are meant to be loose. Mine were taking on badly packed sausage resemblance that may have been distracting for those around me…and not in a good way. I was fearful that I would split my pants at some point which would bring back horrible memories of a New Years Eve noc-shift in a psych facility that began with me spilling coffee on my lab coat, and then splitting my pants as I bent over to pick up the cup. I had to work all night that way…in a Psych facility where the patients with memory issues will ask you every thirty minutes why your coffee soaked lab coat is tied around your waist. Not one of my better nursing moments.

So…today I forced myself to spend time in our workout room. I didn’t wake up with any true motivation but the five-page spread in the morning paper outlining the correlation between obesity and COVID survival spurred me on. I’d like to be around for a few more years…and I don’t want to be buried in a flannel shirt (so if anything happens, please bury me in the Minion costume!). I’ve been in the workout room before today, but apparently just stopping in to vacuum doesn’t count as exercise. I put on my favorite workout video, took to the floor, hit the weights and realized why everyone says to not stop working out…because starting again is torture. I used to be able to do 30 push-ups. I sadly could muster one today. I’ll shoot for two tomorrow…but no promises.

So off I go to prepare for 2021 and begin the fight to fit back into my clothes. I’m breaking up with you, bread. It was a nice fling, and you made me feel soft, warm and buttery. But just like all bad relationships, you make me feel bad about myself, so we have to end it.

It’s not you…it’s me.

Ok…actually, it’s you.

My regards to Paul Hollywood.

Posted in Uncategorized and Tagged BBS nothingfits PandemicDressCode