Supersize me

I have been attempting to put together a reasonable outfit for a date tonight. In the process, I discovered an almost total lack of suitable clothes - the downside of the casual office/no life combo is a distinct absence of variety in the clothing choices made on a daily basis. So I went shopping last night. It was a successful trip, I'll say that at the outset. I have an outfit which I am proudly sporting at my desk today, ready for the make up to be applied and the saunter to the meeting place. But along the way, I made some discoveries.

I have moaned about my size and shape for as long as I can remember. I've always been at the upper reaches of the ranges sold in ordinary stores, by which I mean shops that aren't catering for a specific segment of society, whether it be, to borrow Flatmate L's unflattering descriptions, the short shop or fat fashion. For as long as I can remember I've been borderline. Sure, there was a period way back in the early 90s when I could easily trot along to Sportsgirl and load up on t-shirts with multi-coloured lettering, short brightly coloured shorts and all the trendy items of the moment, most of which I cringe to remember now. But the problem with that memory is that while I was getting about in small sized adult clothing, my friends were still shopping in the kiddy section. And that's before we even get started on my feet, which have barely been contained by the ladies shoe department since I was about 13. And hats? Forget it.

And even though shops are now carrying the next size up, it seems that I've grown right along with their sizes and am still forced to concede defeat on a regular basis when I realise that not only am I holding the biggest size they make (notice, not carry, stock, have on the rack...it's make. They don't come any bigger), but that it is made for someone who is decidedly not me.

Which leads me to my discovery. It has now become clear to me that, like a McDonalds meal deal, I have been supersized. It's not that I'm totally disproportionate, whatever the BMI police would have you think. I have a waist, I have some muscle definition in my arms and legs, parts of my are quite toned (not all, but hey, how many people ARE toned all over?). It's just that I was seemingly built on a bigger scale. How it's taken me this long to realise, I don't know. Maybe it was the wallowing in misery about body image for so long. But here it is. I am tall, I have an hour glass figure of sorts (hippy, busty, with a waist in between...figure that's close enough), I have big feet, big hair. I'm a scaled up version of the average 5'4 woman. OK, so the scaling isn't precise, but there it is.

Now all I have to do is get them to accurately scale up the clothes. They've started making boots for people with hockey-player legs. One day, they'll start selling clothes in mainstream shops for scaled up people too. One day, I will be able to walk into any shop and only my lack of cash will stop me from buying one of everything in the shop, in my size. Well, a girl's gotta dream, right?