Wear Your Big Pants
The young lady I used to share my office with is nouveau-hip. She thinks she’s hip, but she’s a dork.
One day she held up the newspaper and asked me, “Do you believe that they put this on the front cover?” There, among a collage of photographs, was a chubby girl with her belly hanging out.
She didn’t expect my answer: You did it. Not me.
“I did it?”
Yes. You and your ilk. I’ve seen you wear those hip-hugging pants and oh-too-short tops. You spend half of your day pulling at the bottom of your shirt and the other half hiking up your pants trying to cover your belly. It’s not even your belly that you are trying to cover; it’s the area below your belly!
“Yeh, but I’m not fat,” she retorted.
No, but your clothes don’t fit.
When you bend over and the world can see your underwear, your clothes don’t fit. Or you’re a plumber.
“My clothes do fit. It’s the style …”
… and that’s my point. It is the style, and you and your cronies have accepted it and made it okay for people not to fit in their clothes. It doesn’t matter if you’re fat or skinny — you are all wearing clothes that don’t fit.
It’s not that I’m prudish, far from it. Show some skin; I like skin. Just wear clothes that fit.
You look poor.
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