It started with a sports bra.

When I buy a sports bra, which is essentially just a spandex version of a razorback wireless bra, they either squish my boobs so flat that they ooze out of the armpit holes, or it’s so loose, my boobs gush the the center, forming on giant butt crack.

So, I looked around online for a sports bra with an underwire, or some sort of voodoo, magic bean support, to make my boobs look happy when I am working out, or laying on the couch during a Weeds marathon because standard underwire are bras pokey and cumbersome, reminding me I am lazy and unproductive.

I have big boobs.  I haven’t been able to go braless since I was eight.

So, I googled around a bit, and the only sports bras in my cup size, with an underwire, came from those heavy girl online catalogs.

The ones where they have normal sized young models in things like elastic waist jeans and house dresses.

Because, obviously, that’s how fat people should dress.

So they stick out from the herd.

And, if a meteor comes crashing down into the Earth, killing two thirds of the population, we’ll know who to eat…the ones in the pastel tunics and extra wide width velcro shoes.


When it comes to clothes, I am a chameleon.  On days I’m not bloated, I can shop almost anywhere, excluding the stores that cater to sex starved teenagers who want to dress like surfers, vampires, or underage trafficked prostitutes.

But, when it comes to my bust, my choices are limited, which has me often wandering into stores like Lane Bryant, so I can get a bra that won’t make Andy feel like he’s making love to his grandmother.

And, while I applaud stores like that, trying to young up an otherwise geriatric inspired fashion line, I gotta say, they are still totally off.

Here is a hint, the curvy girls…want to wear the exact same clothes as the non-curvy girls.

They also don’t want to pay $40 more dollars for plus size clothes than regular clothes.

My mom has dragged me into enough lame ass fabric stores to know, adding an extra inch or too of cotton, isn’t that expensive.

Because really, plus size clothes aren’t even really plus size, they are normal sized, it’s just that the normal sized clothes have been taken over by designers who’s target demographic is corpse.

And, while we’re being open about it, why not toss in a few natural fibers.

I could be a size 2 and still not want a yeast infection sweating my ass off in spandex and polyester.

Besides, us curvy girls?  We probably sweat more getting all hot and bothered thinking about burritos all day.

And, you should also note, that our bellybuttons are mostly in the same place as thin people’s belly buttons, give or take a centimeter or five with each kid, but still, nowhere near my areola, which is where you seem to assume the waist of my jean must sit.

Lastly, stop making empire waist shirts that tie in the back.


Nothing pisses me off more than when the lady at the Chinese take out place asks me if I’m pregnant.


Me Sized

Not plus sized. Just me sized.

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