Don’t Ask Me That!

XXXL

So, how was your day? Mine was going great guns right up until the moment that a male colleague from a different department to the one I work in sent me an email asking me what size shirt I wear. Way to put a crimp in my day huh?

I should explain – I mean it wasn’t done for sport, you know like ‘I can’t help noticing you’re the size of a moose and I was just wondering how many X’s you need ahead of the L hahahaha’…or worse, ‘I’m looking around for an awning on the side of my RV and I just wondered where you buy your clothes from’ – he did have a reason to ask. I have to go to a conference next month, and everyone there representing the company will need a branded shirt. But still, you can picture my face when the email dropped in I’m sure. It was one of those moments where time stopped dead in the face of mortification and I just sat and stared at my screen.

Of course the asshole was off and away from the starting block like Ussain chuffing Bolt, diving through that open window of opportunity with a selection of carefully chosen comments designed to hammer home the humiliation. “I bet the rest of his department are gathered round his screen waiting for your answer…they’ve probably got a sweepstake going!  They’ve probably dared him to come and ask you face to face so they could hide around the corner and watch you squirm!! He’s probably moaning about the fact that you’re going to blow his whole shirt budget on that one cavernous garment, hahahaha!!!”

As the flush of horror made it’s leisurely ascent from my toes to my ears, I thought about lying. What if, I say I’m a size large because that’s big ish but it’s only kind of the big end of average…I could try and stretch it..? I mean lots of people wear a size large don’t they, so that would make me nearly normal right? And if it’s not stretchy fabric, I could go find another shirt from a fat-lady-shop and cut the branded bit off, and stitch it onto the fat-lady-shirt and nobody need ever know how many X’s are really in front of the L…that might work..?

By this time, the asshole had gone into overdrive. “Hahahaha I bet the shirt making company will have to call him and make sure he’s put the right number of X’s on the form, that can’t be right can it?  She’s really THAT big..? Crikey how many pies did SHE eat?!!!”

I didn’t lie. I styled it out. “Hi, I’ll need a size 26 please, if they make them that big (!) regards, Dee”.

Get the joke in first to let him know I don’t give a crap that he asked. Even though I do. Let him know I’m ok with it, because he probably felt horrible having to ask (I mean he’s a bloke, you guys take your lives in your hands when you mention any woman’s size, right?) so make it obvious that your size isn’t embarrassing for you. Even though it is. Note to self: Make damn sure next year you’ll actually fit into size L which by that point might even be too big on your scrawny-assed body.

By the way, no cake was consumed during this pretty shitty day therefore the scores on the doors remain Me: 1 – Asshole: 0 🙂

Like it..? Tell your friends!
 

4 thoughts on “Don’t Ask Me That!

  1. OMG! Tears are rolling down my face! You are wonderful! What to be my best friend? (Just an expression of fond regard…don’t start checking over your shoulder for a stalker!) I hate going shopping because of the XXXXXXXXXXXXL labels. It is like the store is saying, “Hey fat disgusting loser…you are an extra, extra, extra…..loser.” I even get embarrassed when I go to the check out to pay for it. And why can’t they make shirts that cover your butt! As if that is something that I want to share with the world! Love your blog!

    1. Aw thanks Julie…you know I’ve made some amazing virtual friends on here since I started writing the blog – you’re very welcome to the community, we all are in the same boat and we all support each other. Whatever fat issue you’ve got going on, there will be hundreds of heads nodding and we all get it 🙂

  2. OMG! Cringe!!

    I once had to have my photo taken for our business newsletter. I HATE having my photo taken. Why me? I asked. Oh, everyone’s going to have to do this at some point. They said. I grumbled some more. Oh! But you’ve got a lovely smile. They insisted. Yeah, your smile is the only good thing they could come up with. My asshole said.

    So I had the damn photo done, and even the professional photographer couldn’t disguise the huge cheeks, double chin and the pink sweaty face (lovely smile notwithstanding) and not a bloody airbrush in sight! The things we do for work, eh?

    Good luck at the conference and fingers crossed for next year. Oh! And you’ve gone and made me comment again!! 🙂

    1. Ha welcome back…I’ll get you by stealth!! Your comment made me crack a smile, I know exactly what you mean – I have a picture attached to my email account at work and it’s the biggest roundest moonface you’ve ever seen. First thing on my skinny girl list of things to do is to get the damn thing replaced as soon as I have just the one chin left! D x

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