Who would have thought?

For the first time in my life, I detest shopping for clothes for myself. You heard that right. I’m loathing the thought of it.

Why? Because this time, I REALLY NEED to shop. See, I have been stuffing my face with so much food and so much junk, not to mention I went back to drinking soda that I might as well have a Pepsi IV. So it would not be much of a surprise that I gained weight. A lot.

Yesterday morning was the rude awakening, to the truest sense of the word.

I tried every bottoms I have in my closet. Nothing fits. My work capris, heck, I’d be lucky if I can zip it up. My black slacks that I got from JC Penney not so long ago (and I haven’t worn them yet!), I can’t even button it. Well, I can button it but you’d never at look muffins the same way again.

See my dilemma? I was depressed all day yesterday. I felt like I’m a huge hippo sitting on the front desk. That would be comical if it was some other day, but yesterday, I just want to break down and cry.

The boyfriend doesn’t have any problem with my weight. He keeps on refuting my statement every time I tell him that I’m fat. He says, I may be pudgy but not fat. Being of an awesome boyfriend that he is, he bought a treadmill. That sucker is sitting in our guest bedroom collecting dust because I cannot work out in such a cluttered room. (We haven’t unpacked all of our stuff yet.)

I know I can work out and lose it. But I cannot keep wearing the same skirt or pants (those few that fit and just create an “acceptable” muffin top) week by week until I drop down two sizes. Hell. No.

So the only solution is to get me some new work clothes with a bigger size.

Shit.