Memoirs of a Fat Girl

My bridesmaid's dress has been chosen. My Maid of Honour, Ms. Maid to the Bride dress has been selected and, as I type this, is being sewn.

Oli was flipping through a bridal magazine and saw a stunning, simply cut Pronovias gown, and literally gasped. She held it up and said, "This would be perfect for you. " I saw it, and did my own gasp. Decision made. We based a design on the magnificence of the picture (definitely less lacy), and sent it off to Kathi, designer & seamstress.

This gown is gorgeous. It is stunning. It is a creation like no other. I am completely in love with this dress. I have a slight problem, though.

I am not in love with me in it. If the wedding were tomorrow, I would look like a sausage encased in silver silk.

My weight has not gone down at all since I've come home. In fact. it has gone up a couple of pounds. I'm not surprised, not with that food fest they put us through in Jordan, but I wouldn't change it, either. If they enjoyed taking care of us that way, so be it.

And besides, it could have been a lot worse. It is absolutely nothing to lose two pounds. It's a lot more to lose lots of pounds, which is what I have to do for this dress.

What's the matter with me? I've had opportunity and opportunity, time and again, and yet I do nothing. I don't know if it's the habit, or the laziness, or maybe I just don't want it badly enough.

The model wearing the dress on the website and magazine ads is a stick. She has no hips, no waist, no boobs, toothpick arms, a small head and plenty of hair. She is a human clothes hanger. She completely fits the attitude of this otherwise gorgeous gown that just screams, don't come at me, bitch, until you're a size four.

I don't know if I've made a grand mistake, or set myself up for a challenge I can conquer.

Looking at the calendar, if I really put my mind to it, I can do what it takes to work out, lose some weight and make a healthy life change for myself by the end of September. I could look good in this dress at a size eight. I would look great in a size six. I would be magnificent at a size four.

But then, is this the way I should be looking at things?

Our society is fucked. Half the time you are told, this is your lot and you are done with it. Happiness is self-acceptance. The other half tells you, fight! You can do absolutely anything you set your mind to! Win!

What does this say? That I made a gigantic mistake, and should have another design drawn up for me, something that will flatter *this* body more, before it's too late? Or that I can do anything I set my mind to, and be slim and devastatingly sexy enough by September 23rd to wear this incredible gown with confidence and a smile?

Accept? Fight? Which is the path to happiness?