dressing rooms have always been a feared place for me
armfuls of potentially stunning outfits
pulled from racks of different sizes
from all across the store.
friends who wait outside the stall
who ‘can’t wait to see how it looks!’
but really, all I can think about is if it’s going to fit.
dressing rooms were always full of
‘ughs’
and
‘ouches’
and
frustrated sighs for clothes that just could have worked
if my hips weren’t so wide.
if my stomach wasn’t so round.
if my shoulders weren’t so broad.
if i was just a little smaller.
if i was just a little smaller,
dressing rooms wouldn’t be so bad.
if i was just a little smaller,
the cutest jeans would fit me perfectly,
the tightest tops would be so flattering,
there would be no spilling from the spaghetti straps of the sexiest tops.
if i was just a little smaller,
the groans would be
‘yes’s!’
the sighs would be grins
and the locked door of the stall would proudly open for all to see.
but—
if i was just a little smaller,
my hips would never know the vibrant dances i swing them to at parties
proudly bumping to the music
on the best nights of my life.
if i was just a little smaller,
my stomach would never know the bliss of 4am fried chicken
after a long night of s’mores at a bonfire
cuddled up with my best friends.
if i was just a little smaller,
my shoulders would never have carried me through long swim practices
hours of playing with the kids i nanny
or running around the beach playing impromptu volleyball.
if i was just a little smaller,
my jeans might have fit.
but why make the quality of my life any smaller, any less,
when i can just buy bigger pants.
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