Fauxhawk and I are going to his cousin's wedding in a few weeks, and I'd like to say, for the record, that it is extremely inconsiderate of his relatives to plan a wedding during the Uglies. For those of you who live in California, Florida or any of the warm countries, the Uglies consist of the second half of December, all of January, February, and March and most of April, when office workers from the Northeastern United States transform into pale, disgruntled, elephantine creatures. While the bride has spent months existing on a steady diet of wheat germ, spray tans, and squat thrusts, the rest of us have been busy storing Cheetos for the winter. In our jowls. It's only when we get the invitation in the mail that the full horror of our situation unfolds.
Upon examining the invite, we enter a period of complete disbelief, thinking, erroneously, that there is no way a friend or family member would actually make us appear in photographs dressed in flesh-exposing clothing at this most unfortunate time of year.
Then we go through a stage of denial during which we convince ourselves that eight weeks is enough to lose 15 pounds and become suitably toned. When it becomes clear that this will involve the gym and an extremely unpleasant diet, we move on to anger.
During this stage, we become convinced that a wedding during the Uglies is the equivalent of a hideous bridesmaid dress - yet another conspiracy to set off the bride's radiant beauty against a backdrop of lumpen, gormless guests.
At last, we reach acceptance, which involves trying on clothes that no longer fit, crying and devising a Plan B.
So you see, if Fauxhawk's family had chosen to celebrate their nuptials in July, or even September, I might have had a fighting chance. I might have had something cute to wear. Instead, I will have to fashion some sort of tarp around my naked form and be vigilant about revealing back fat.
(Reading this you might think to yourself, Self, why doesn't Persephone just go to the gym? Why doesn't she stop eating chocolate and Peppermint Patties all the live-long day?
I have an answer for you.
The answer is:
The answer to the above question is deliberately too small to read because it's spiteful and rude, and I have decided to be nice on this blog - right after I stop chastising Fauxhawk's family for their selfishness.)
So it's on to Plan B.
This is what we do when we're too bovine to:
A. Fit into any of our clothes
B. Contemplate trying on new clothes in cold, unflattering light
C. Get up from chairs unassisted
We think about jewelry. Jewelry is Plan B.
Jewelry never makes you look fat (unless of course you're wearing an arm band and your upper arms are flabby. This is a look that requires triceps and I'm not sure I have any of those).
It does not require disrobing and seeing your naked form from three unspeakable angles.
You can buy it online, which eliminates having to shop during daylight hours (and handy if you are wedged in a chair unable to escape of an excess of fat)
So I am thinking about what jewelry might go well with my tarp ensemble.
Perhaps these dainties from lushbella will make me look like a delicate flower - from the chin up.
I love these crazyass bracelets from Calypso Bijoux - they're so bright that no one will notice my bootox.
Some people might think these earrings from thepuddingstore say,"I am a 300 pound lesbian biker. BRING IT!" I say: no matter. Me likey.
And this necklace (also from thepuddingstore) - sweet, but also vaguely badass, like Jodie Fisher in Taxi Driver.
I'm not sure Seattle is ready for me and my outfit. No matter.
BRING IT!
