Through the eyes of a fat chick…. in a fitting room.

This little fat chick went into a fitting room today to try on some new clothes.

Fuck me, what an ordeal that shit is.

It was hard enough finding clothes on the rack to get around my fat arse, but when I found something I like, in what I thought was my size, I thought I’d better try the fucker on, just to make sure that I can get into the damn thing.

Off to the fitting room I trot. Here lies my first fucking problem. How fucking Small are these rooms? And who the fuck designs them with a flimsy curtain across them?
I’m fat. I’m in a fat persons clothing store, and I can’t turn around or bend over in the fucking fitting room to try shit on. There’s fuck all room to do anything. My shower cubicle is roomier than this.
Let me tell you what it’s like getting changed when you’re fat, firstly, we need to sit down to put pants on, because we’re generally so top heavy, when we lean over, we over balance and fall forward. Once we sit down, and put our legs in the leg holes, poke our fat trotters out the end, only then can we stand up to pull the pants up the rest of the way.
Now, to get our butt and gut in, we’ve got to do a bit of a jiggle, we wobble our giblets to get them inside the waist of the Pants. This requires a little room. Think “The Goonies” and the poor fat kid doing the truffle shuffle. That’s pretty much how it goes for a fat chick to try on new clothes.

Any how, I’m trying on these pants, I’ve done the jiggle to get the bakery of rolls in the waist of the pants, the back is elastic, the front has a zip and button.
I pull the sides together, to try and get the button up, but like a virgin bride on her wedding night, the bloody thing wouldn’t go in the tight hole. I think to myself “Fuck this shit, I’ll do the zip up first”, so here I am tucking in my flab, getting all hot and flustered, turned around, jiggled some more, jumped up and down, bent over so my arse was pushing the curtain into the store area and opening the curtain for the world to see me.
I’m wrestling with these pants to get the two sides together just to get the zip up, but I was having no fucking luck.
Untuck my flab, and it zips up without a hitch, but now I’ve got a muffin top that is wobbling down to my knee, and I think that shit needs to be contained. So I try tucking it in again.

Nope. No amount of jiggling, wobbling, tucking, swearing, grunting is ever going to get my lard in these damn pants. And then the embarrassment of not having them fit comes over me. There was no bigger size. These jeans can get fucked.

I redress into my normal clothes, and put the pants I wanted back into the hanger.
I swish back the curtain. And see two people looking at me and giggling, knowing full well that they just saw my fat arse struggling behind the curtain to do up some jeans.
As I walked past, I said ‘if you enjoyed that show, there’ll be a repeat performance at my place later when I change for bed’ And I kept walking.
I’ve been fat for as long as I can remember. It still hurts like fuck that I’m ridiculed in some way on a daily basis, I try to shake it off, but it still cuts deep.
Fat chicks and store fitting rooms aren’t a good mix, and I’ll avoid it at all costs in the future.

Hope your day was a bit better than mine.


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