Yesterday, I folded the purple shirt you see in my photo (lefthand column) and donated it to charity. It no longer fit.
The good news, at least for someone who's long struggled with her weight, is that the shirt's too big. A swath of it poked from an unbuttoned cardigan sweater, and the collar levitated up and out.
Wearing it, I looked as if I'd borrowed clothes from my big sister-- a look I've always been drawn to. What weight-challenged woman doesn't harbor the fantasy that an item of clothing will swallow her up?
In the past, I'd have kept that blouse for my fat days. Now I know keeping it is akin to sabotage. By giving it away, I declare an end to fat days.
Really, Pat? This, despite the fact history shows . . . Shut up!
I'm not going to make it easy to undermine myself with props like too-big favorite shirts. The purple one's gone. So is the gray-striped one. And the magenta.
Although I hate to shop, I ventured out--and bought two new shirts in a smaller size. Sadly, I couldn't find the perfect purple shirt in a store. Happily, I located it online, and it will arrive in a few days. Score!
It's not the equivalent of having my cake and eating it, too, because there's no cake. Sigh.
Nevertheless, a purple shirt that fits is hugely satisfying.