Dressing rooms, the bain of my existence.

Here is a weekend recap. It all started Friday night. It actually all started when my Mom genetically handed me down a crappy metabolism, but I digress. I had to work an extra four hours Friday night, emergencies happen where I work and it can't be avoided sometimes, and by sometimes I mean ALL the time. It basically shot my plans for getting my horse rode, a workout in, and editing the horse show I am working on right now. I reduced it down to eating some turkey jerky on my way out the door and getting in my workout before eating some popcorn and going to bed. I had to work on Saturday, so staying up until the wee hours of the morning editing wasn't an option. Went and worked on Saturday, nothing exciting there. My plan for the evening after working was to go buy these ridiculously expensive jeans that I swore I would NEVER pay that much for a pair of jeans so that I would have something respectable to wear to the wedding next weekend, then ride my pony, and workout. No big deal, sounds innocent enough. So, I go to the store where the jeans currently resided, and as it happens, still reside (spoiler alert: I didn't buy them). I had been stewing about these jeans for two weeks. That's how I shop. I don't try stuff on, I don't buy it when I first see it, I try and see if I can live without it, then I go back later and they don't have my size anymore, and I don't have to buy it, wasn't meant to be, see, not complicated at all. So, I grabbed 5 pairs of jeans including "the" pair. I tried them on, One pair didn't fit, the rest did. But, mind you, one pair not fitting is enough to knock the wind outta a Funny Fat Chick's sails. That's it, that's all it takes. I couldn't say that "the" pair made my hiney look so fabulous that I was willing to pay $89 for them. None of the others blew my skirt up either. That may be partially because I was in a dressing room. Which basically amounts to psychological warfare for an eternal fat kid. I have spent my life avoiding these places at ALL costs. For starters, you are changing in out of clothes you don't own in public. Weird. Secondly, there is a good chance that you are going to put something on that doesn't fit, and one way or the other, that is upsetting. Lastly, if you are shopping alone there is no reassuring friend to tell you that you don't look like the beached whale that you see in the mirror. I spent enough time trying stuff on that I had to pee, real bad. I found the bathroom and tried to regroup. I thought, I will look one. more. time. I hit the clearance rack where I found the pair I ended up buying. Whether they were a better cut for me, the right shade of blue, or who knows what, I liked this pair of jeans, didn't love, but liked them enough to buy them and didn't feel completely ripped off. They were still more money than I am usually willing to spend on britches, but they didn't break the bank. I got the rest of my shopping done and headed home. Where, I crashed. Crashed hard. I didn't get any of the other things done that I wanted to, and I ate my way through the evening. Nothing terrible for me because I just don't keep that stuff in the house, but if it had been there, I'm sure it wouldn't have stood a chance. One that emotional trigger is tripped there is no putting that bullet back in the gun. I am better now. Back to my normal self. But it is continually disappointing that there are still things out there that can push me over that edge. Between the exhaustion, the jeans fiasco, and my teetering self-confidence, this wasn't my best weekend. But the good news is that I can pick myself up and move on from it, something I never used to do. Silver linings, they are out there.