I keep forgetting what size I am.
More accurately, I have no idea what size I am.
Part of this is because I've lost weight and part of it is because everyone who designs clothing for women is smoking crack and apparently it would just be so very difficult/such a blow to our ego/or just you know, SANE, to do things like put our waist size on our jeans instead of making us try on forty-eleven pairs to figure out which ones actually fit.
A few weekends ago (I think...time is going really off-kilter for me these days) I tried on every pair of "work" pants I have (I don't often have to wear such things, but once or twice a year I am forced to) and none of them fit. Some of them were comically huge and some were just plain too big. Fine, nice. Yay. Whatever. Good problem to have I guess, except it means I have to spend money. Which, despite what my bank account would tell you, is not really something I enjoy.
So I went to a store that I don't find completely repugnant and tried on pants. Out of the sixty pairs I tried on (lie, it was more like seven. But it FELT like sixty), two were exactly identical in every way except color. Same brand, same style, same size, same everything except color. One fit fine. The other I couldn't get past my hips. I'm not kidding.
I didn't buy any pants. I was very disgruntled and made ugly faces whilst trying them on. And maybe said something snarky about my butt. Twice. Maybe.
I wear a lot of dresses these days. Not because I'm fancy, just because I like them. I bought two recently (on clearance, woo!). They were vastly different sizes, but fit almost exactly the same. I should really stop caring what size is on the tag, but seriously? It would make my life so much easier if I just sort of approximately knew what size to look at.
Okay and the worst part of what happened lately? I have these mommaw arms and I just seriously don't even know what to do about it. You know what I'm talking about...the flaps. I'm FLAPPY. So I'm on my deck, enjoying the weather, I lean back and, I swear to God this is true, I catch my arm fat behind the chair and the deck railing and pinch the crap out of my own arm. Out of my own ARM FAT.
It immediately bruises and makes a huge welt and I said to Jason, "Well. This is a wake-up call."
Because what do I do? Lift the heaviest weights possible forever? Maybe? Does arm fat just not go away? Do I need surgery?
So. In summary:
I'm approaching 150lbs lost (oh my God) and my arms are still flappy.
I still have no idea what size I am.
I'm still not a supermodel.
I don't know what to do about any of this.