May 23, 2000
Fully Baked

 


 
The calendar still says May (and I'm not *officially* allowed 'hot sun' ... as opposed to 'not-hot' sun to wear white shoes to the office for another week), but for all intents and purposes I think it's safe to say that summer has been ignited here in the East Bay.  The punishing, Maybelline-melting heat wave we've endured the past four days is proof of that.

And to celebrate ... I'm going to run right out and buy a muumuu!

Or, as they are described in the Roaman's catalog that landed on my desk yesterday, "Marvelous yet modest tent-dresses in a rainbow of colors and tropical prints ... designed for comfort and easy movement."

Gack.

I'm not sure why my mailbox is suddenly and mysteriously filling up with all of these "Plus Size" catalogs, here at work, but I'm trying not to take it personally. I suspect they're being sent to ALL of the female employees in our building. (Even Little Miss *I'm Eating a Honey-Baked Ham For Lunch Today, Followed By Forty Minutes in the Ladies Room, OK?* Receptionist Person, in the office across the hall from The Totem Pole Company.) 

These catalog companies have obviously gotten their hands on a global mailing list ... and they know how to abuse it.

This week alone, I've received catalogs from Roaman's, Lane Bryant, Hanes Her Way, RealSize.com, and  --  from the absolute bottom of the Full-Figured-Fashion catalog barrel, as far as I'm concerned  --  something called "S'More To Love." (Now THERE is marketing for you!!  Do they include a free case of Hershey bars with every "tent-dress" ordered?)  I'll admit that I thumbed through some of them, looking at footwear mostly  --  part of my eternal quest to find the elusive Comfortable Shoes That Fit My Mutant Feet  --  but unless I were to suddenly inexplicably decide I love faux leather moccasins with little beaded tassels  -- which will happen right about the same time I "suddenly inexplicably" decide I love football, Bob Dylan, and raw dead oysters on the half shell  --  these catalogs are also a wash-out in the shoe department.

Don't get me wrong.  I have nothing against Plus Size fashions, or the people who wear them.  *I* have worn Plus Size fashions, a time or four in my life. (See: "Summer 1990: The Summer of Dove.")  And the truth is that with my rather lopsided figure  --  ample breasts, flat hips, zero butt to speak of  --  some of these Plus Size fashions would probably be a great deal more comfortable (and bloodflow-enhancing) than continuing to squeeze myself into clothing designed for the *normal* woman. At least for my TOP half.  (Read this: no more safety pins, bravely holding my blouse together.)

But I won't wear Plus Size "fashions." Want to know why?

Because of their stoopid catalogs. I didn't ask for them. I don't want them. And I refuse to order from them. Piss me off with your unsolicited mailings/marketing "strategy"/annoying TV commercials ... and you lose me as a potential customer forever.

I don't buy Herbal Essence Shampoo anymore, for the exact same reason. ("She's got the urge to herbal" ... ?? G-A-C-K. With a capital ACK.)


     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Besides. David and I are serious about wanting to think about planning to start to consider beginning to decide to eat more sensibly, and to exercise more, and to lose some weight, and to get all healthy and stuff this summer. Honest. We really truly are.

As soon as we finish this last gallon of Triple Chocolate Thunder.

*Plus* ... I'm dead serious about this breast reduction stuff. I'm setting the wheels in motion, even as we speak. I've already warned the Tots that they might want to avoid *FootNotes* for the latter half of the year 2000 ... especially the Polaroid pages.  Once my bosom has been levelled to more manageable proportions -- read this: once I can see my FEET again -- my need for Plus Size anything may have diminished somewhat.

But this is all another story for another day. Preferably another, COOLER day, when I'm not feeling quite so cranky.

Time to go check my mail.



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