As the air begins to chill and the crunchy leaves begin to form unsightly mounds on my deck, the time is once again upon us to dig into the far reaches of our closet and pull out some long lost friends. No, I ‘m not talking about that strange cousin who, after falling on hard times back in ’89, has been residing in the deepest recesses of your closet and goes by the name of Fritz. I am talking about fall fashions. I am relatively certain that every chubby girl in the world lives for this time of year – expect for perhaps those covered back in “Even Pole Dancers Like Comfortable Pants Sometimes” who don’t yet know they are chubby. But for the rest of us, the chance to cover our jiggle-jaggle with bulky earth-tones is nothing short of fabulous. For me, my love affair began somewhere around 1979, about the same time I was in third grade and my mother enrolling me in Weight Watchers helped me to realize that my chub was no longer endearing. Unfortunately in the 30 plus years since then, my chub hasn’t faded much like my love for fall fashions. I’d like to now take this opportunity to acknowledge all that reasons behind my resilient adoration from head to toe.
Here’s to you big woolly socks. When you make your appearance I can finally put down the lotion. Your arrival signals it’s time to let the weekly paint –buff and scrape fall by the wayside until the time my tootsies need to make the rare cold weather appearance. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t use this opportunity to allow hammertoe to take over and grow a row of contractor grade sandpaper on my heels, but you provide a welcome break from an additional bit of primping and give me at least 20 minutes each week back to my life for more pressing things like carbohydrates.
Dear Long Pants, welcome back. I missed you. It’s not that I would prefer to spend my life in jeans but the sheer ability to provide full coverage from hip to ankle over every varicose vein and dimple of cellulite is a remarkable one. While long pants have always been welcome in my life, the addition of a little spandex into nearly every pair now available on the open market is simply divine. Why didn’t someone think of this back in the first round of the tight jean trend? I must tell you however, your rein is rather limited to America. It was virtually impossible to find you in the Middle East and much of Europe. When I introduced a buxom French friend to you back in Turkey, she assured me that if ever you chose to leave the girth of North America, you would be received with open arms by the growing European asses. I’d also like to give a brief peck on the cheek to your bastard redneck cousin, the sweatpant who is always welcome to take his turn covering my thighs as well as you’re mixed gene relative the legging. We’d been out of touch since the late 80’s but we’ve recently reunited and it feels so right.
And to you Long Sleeves, I’m not afraid to say it. I love you. I thank you for keeping that jiggling bit under my upper arm our little secret. I dare say you might just be my favorite. I wait with bated breath for the first cold breeze so that I may hide beneath your layers. You are the answer to every pale chubby girl’s needs. You hide my pasty skin, gloss over my extra-added midsection and flow over my post-baby hips. Together with your domestic partner – bulky sweater, you make me feel good again, hiding all that I was forced to unleash upon the world during the hideous months of warm weather. Welcome home, Long Sleeves, welcome home.
And finally, festive hats, I salute you. You are always there when needed to keep things warm and camouflage any follicular foul-ups. In the rush to preschool in the morning, you take on the fashion burden with only a wisp of assistance from festive lipstick. You provide sensibly priced trendiness to my painfully classic outerwear, making all that is old new again.
Fall fashions, to each of you, I hope you know that the further on this other side of 40 I travel, the more our love will grow. Sure, I will bring in the occasional summertime hussy like a skort or a peasant top but know that ours is just a passing fling forced together by time, temperature, societal norms and eventually hormonal imbalance. Bulky Sweater, you know that if we could be seen in public in the middle of July, I would do it without hesitation. My love for you is real and though I relegate you to the back of my closet for those few horrific months of warmth, you are never forgotten as I anxiously await your return.