Grady's clothing had always been chosen with more care, at least when he started law school. Aware that first impressions can be far more lasting than the work ever is, we both took care that his wardrobe was well fitted and classic. Most was purchased end of season, even the three suits we bought for his internships last year.
At least a good man's suit is classic, though expensive. He could easily get several years wear from one provided his weight didn't flexuate too much. If he kept going to the gym as religiously as he as our entire relationship, it shouldn't be too hard.
Me, on the other hand, well, I've gained and lost the same twenty-five pounds about six time in the past five years. I used to attack it with a vengeance that would have gotten me an informercial on my fabulous transformations. Its been a very passive aggressive relationship I either love food or I hate it. When I love it, I embrace everything from haunting farmer's markets and meal planning to the consumption. When I hate it, I'm convinced that corporate America wants each and every one of us to be addicted to corn syrup, food preservatives, and chocolate. Lately, I've been taking a slightly more balanced approach; I love most food and have tried to make friends with the the extra weight that has settled on my hips and thighs in the last six months. It was a carousel and it was high time to get off.
Just six more months, and I could get rid of my extra job, join a gym, and spend a little time and money on myself. In six more months, there would be no more bills associated with the costs of law school. No more tuition. No more books. No more parking permits. In six months, I could get off the carousel and begin to have my own life, plan a wedding, and consider looking at a fixer upper to buy.
God, I really hoped Grady passed the bar the first time.
"Bernie, what do you think of this one?" Vic asked. He took me to a high end charity shop, the kind where all of the ladies who lunch donate their discards. How he knew about a shop the size of most walk in closets was beyond me.
I wrinkled my nose. "I don't look good in orange." The dress in question wasn't the neon, hunter orange I had to wear when I worked on my dad's painting crew after school and on summer vacations; this sheath was the color of melted orange sherbet and was out of some kind of a clingy fabric that would adhere to my thighs, just like real sherbet.
He plucked a red dress with a v-neck and handkerchief hemline and put it in front of his body. "This?"
"You'd look lovely in it, my dear," I said. He really did look good in that particular shade of tomato red. I'd look like an overripe fruit that had been cut to look nice after it had been filled with a chicken salad.
I pulled three more garments aside, hoping for something in black. Black was still supposed to be the most slimming color, and maybe after this life changing announcement, I could get someone to take our picture. Pictures that happen at important moments in life look awful in about ten years, and if this was finally his proposal, I wanted to be able to look at the picture for years and not cringe about the fashion statement I wasn't making.
Twenty minutes later, an expensive, bottle-blond woman floated into the store carrying dry cleaning bags. She was out of breath as she handed the bag to the sole cashier. "Can I get a receipt for these?" she asked.
A slip of paper crossed the checkout stand. "See you next month, Jan?" the clerk asked.
"You bet." She grinned. She said in an overloud whisper, "I have the man I'm dating convinced that if I can't put it away, I don't buy it. He doesn't realize I donate as much as I buy so things always look the same." She winked at the clerk. I probably wouldn't have noticed, but she was looking into the mirror and caught my eye with the wink. "Oh, Suze, wait a second." She retrieved a royal blue silk number from the bag and walked over to me. "I know it is none of my business, but this would look spectacular on you. You should take it."
She pressed the garment into my hands. I had no idea what to say. She was probably no bigger around than a size six, and I was a generous ten. Ok, a twelve, but if I sucked in my breath, wore two pairs of Spanx and support hose, I could just about squeeze into a ten. If this fit here, there was no way it was never going to go up, much less down. The color was beautiful and the fabric was sumpcious, but that was about as far as things were going to go.
"I couldn't possibly," I said, attempting to hand the dress back to her. "Sales here go to charity."
"It hasn't been donated yet," she said. Again with that stupid wink. "Besides, when I'm a dark brunette, this particular blue makes my eyes just pop. When I'm a blond, I prefer other colors."
"Just try it, sweet pea," Vic said. "You don't wear anything in this color, it might be great."
"How sweet, your man shops with you," she said. She stuck her hand out to shake Vic's. "I'm Jan Roth. Such a pleasure to meet you." She eyed Vic up one side and down the other.
Vic draped his arm across my shoulders, kissed my temple, and said, "She certainly is."
"My work here is done," she said. She skipped out the door, waving behind her.
"Did she look familiar to you?" I asked Vic. "I mean, I think I've seen her before."
Vic shook his head, put his hand on my lower back and ushered me toward the sole dressing room. "Just try it, Bernie. It might fit."
"It'll never go."
"With an attitude like that, it never will." Vic blew a few stray hairs off his forehead. "Just humor me."
tbc
word count 1107
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