Disclaimer: Please bear with me and the use of the FAT word throughout this post. It’s used as means of self-deprecation, and not as a tool to offend anybody else. Not even cows. You’ll understand what I mean in a following post.

One of my oldest friends just had triplets and honored me by asking me to be one of the girls’ godmother. I couldn’t be more thrilled and humbled by this.

The girls were born back in March 2016. I think my friend asked me to be a godmother before then. I knew, from the moment I accepted this honor, that I’d be flying home to Puerto Rico for the ceremony. To Puerto Rico, where I’d see all my old friends and family. I also knew there would obviously be pictures taken for posterity. Pictures to be posted on social media, saved in family albums, and possibly even be put on display on a wall or two for everyone to see.

You’d think that would’ve been incentive enough for me to curb my eating enthusiasm and attempt to lose a pound or two. You know, so I wouldn’t end up looking like a FAT cow on those pictures. I’d still end up looking like a cow, yes. Let’s be reasonable. When you’re about 50lbs overweight, a handful of months are not enough time to solve all your weight problems. But maybe, just maybe, if I had actually done something about it, I could’ve made sure I looked like a regular cow on those photos, instead of a FAT one. Now, with just two weeks till the big day, it’s a little too late. FAT cow be damned.

Don’t go thinking this tiny sliver of wisdom occurred to me all on its own. No. Turns out the Universe had been telling me all along. Only in retrospect, can I see its blunt efforts to get my attention, the not so subtle equivalent to yelling at my face. You see, last Saturday I got a call from that same friend to catch up on things and talk about the big day. She tells me she wants all godparents to wear white or beige. I’m immediately bummed because I thought I’d already figured out my outfit for that day – a cute white and pink floral Carrie dress. But that’s only a small hiccup in the grand scheme of things the Universe has in store for me. The bastard.

I must confess, the following Monday, I’m a bit worried on my way to the store to shop for my outfit. My biggest concern, as I explained to another friend who’s coming along for moral support, is that we’re almost at the end of summer and the chances of finding a white dress are slim. Contrary to my very low expectations, when I walk into T.J. Maxx, I find myself grabbing at least five dresses on my first sweep. They’re all my size, all within my budget, and all beautiful. I march on to the dressing room armed with confidence, when I hear a soft chuckle.

Okay, not really, but I’m sure somewhere out there the Universe was laughing at me. As I try on dress after dress none of them fit. NONE. Well one of them does, and I LOOK LIKE A SAC OF POTATOES. So I decide to change strategies and go for a cute top and pants. Even worse. Between the camel toe and the lack of breathing room I want to run out of there screaming. I’m officially the biggest I’ve ever been. – Fine, not quite. This whole telling the truth thing requires I make sure to let you know that I was bigger than this once before, but I’m definitely well on my way there once more. – Resigned, I walk over to the PLUS section and pull a pair of pants. I’ll claim a small victory where I can get one, and the next thing that happened is a victory indeed. The pants were too big! Instead of camel toe, I now look like I have a sac of flaccid ds between my legs. With that, I leave the pants and buy two tops just in case. I then head over to Ross, where I find a dress that mercifully fits.

Regardless of this small victory, I can still hear the Universe chuckling behind my back, as I feel the seams of my jeans slowly starting to burst. I hear you, Universe, I hear you.

MA