Does This Make Me Look Fat?

My daughter asks me this question on a semi regular basis and because I'm her mother, not her husband, I have the right about twenty days out of the month to say yes.

I no longer ask that question myself, because I am a little (seventy pounds) overweight and I'm not dumb (just fat) so all I need is a quick look in the mirror or the extra pull of elastic around my middle to know, this outfit may be a little on the shy side and enhance my lady curves more than desired for just a grocery store run.

Ok, so back to Wendy. 

There are times when I am feeling especially close to her and will offer up my opinion as to how she looks in a certain outfit. That's what I refer to as "poking the bear" and anyone with good sense knows not to poke a bear (especially not  four to six days out of the month.) She will usually give me the "your so retarded look accompanied by a heavy sigh and slight roll of the eyes and explain to me once again how that is the "style."

Listen, I have style. My own style. 

Close friends and family members felt the need to do a personal intervention on my style about five years ago. According to them, stretch pants with over sized shirts and cute slip on shoes were "out" and I needed to slip into some w i d e leg pants and flowy hippy print shirts with chunky heeled sandals. Because I didn't want to be shipped away to some back woods fashion camp I went along with what these people were forcing on me, but I was never, not for one minute was I comfortable with what was happening to me. Day after day, I longed for my wide headbands and big t-shirts.

Now. 

Look around you.

What do you see?

Maybe it's just because I'm in Oregon, the farthest point from the fashion center of the earth, but every day I see people rockin my look.

I see short stretch pants under short skirts, long stretch pants under long skirts, I can honestly say I have even seen stretch pants accompanied by a loose white t-shirt and flat slip on shoes.

I no longer feel banned to the garden or tied behind a vacuum cleaner when I wear my stretch pants. 

I feel free and I feel proud.

Anyway, back to Wendy.

Now when she has her wide leg pants with some empire waisted funky shirt, three (?) bra straps showing and flip flop underpants riding high above her denim waistline, deep in my heart in my most private of places, I know I am really the one in fashion ( at least in the state of Oregon) so when she looks at me and asks...."do I look dumb in this?" I reflect back and remember what she said to me and say, "no Wen, you look great." 

Because there are two things I know.

One, a mother isn't stupid, and two that look should be back again in about fifteen to twenty years so she may as well just keep rockin it.

Of course there are those days when I tell her she looks like a dirty whore, but those are also the days I usually end up regretting.