"Let me see," my mother called.
I stepped out of the fitting room reluctantly and her face fell the second she saw me.
"Oh. That's... well, it's a bit much, isn't it?"
A bit much was code for I needed to see the inside of somebody's gym.
"Yeah," I said quietly, turning to head back into the dressing room. "I'll try the next one."
The second dress was worse. It was a mermaid style that refused to zip over my hips. I didn't even bother showing my mother that one. The third was a pink ball gown with so much tulle I looked like a cupcake.
"No," I said to my reflection. "Absolutely not."
I changed back into my regular clothes and stepped out of the fitting room, the rejected dresses hanging over my arm.
"Nothing?" my mother asked, her voice sharp with disappointment.
"Nothing."
The saleswoman appeared again, all smiles and suggestions. "Perhaps we could look at some other styles? We have some lovely A-line gowns that are very forgiving."
This entire damn shopping trip seemed to be nothing short of an event to just call me fat at every single turn.
"Sure," I said, because what else was I going to say?
She led us to a different section, pulling out dress after dress. Most of them were fine, even pretty.
Yet none screamed my name.
They were too fancy, or too formal. They just seemed to be way too over the top for my liking.
I tried on six more dresses, each one making me feel fatter than fat and more inadequate than the last. My mother's sighs were getting louder as if it was her ass that was the size of the moon. I just wanted the floor to open up and swallow me.
"Maybe we should try a different store," she said finally.
The saleswoman's smile tightened. "Of course. Though I really do think if you just tried the shapewear we carry..."
Shapewear.
"I'm good, thanks," I said, my voice tight because I was just a few moments from letting all my frustrations fly.
We left Marchand's empty-handed.
My mother was silent on the drive to the next boutique. I could feel her frustration radiating off her in waves.
"You know, Amara," she said finally. "If you'd just lose a few pounds, this would be so much easier."
Finally my mother let me know what she'd been thinking about the entire time.
"I'm not losing weight for a dress, Mom," I eyed her.
"I'm not saying you need to lose a ton of weight. I'm just saying it would make things easier for you."
In reality my mother meant it would make things easier for her. So she wouldn't be embarrassed showing up to the gala with a daughter who didn't fit the mold.
"Can we just find a dress that fits?" I asked, staring out the window.
She fiddled with the stereo, adjusting the sound. "That's what I'm trying to do, sweetheart."
