Just as we get seated, our number is called. Ronnie bounces up and goes to retrieve our food. When she returns, we dig in, she’s grabbing my fries before I have a chance to drown them in ketchup and I’m grabbing her onion petals before she floods them with ranch. I sink my teeth into a breaded tenderloin twice the size of the bun it sits between, it’s warm greasy goodness settling my starving stomach. Through mouthfuls of food, she tells me about the little store she wants to go to.
“It’s the cutest little bookstore, but it’s more than that. I can’t wait to check it out,” she gushes. “A couple of my sorority sisters went there last week and they said it’s amazing. Full of books you can’t find anywhere else and other unique trinkets; I think you’ll love it.”
Her enthusiasm is contagious; it spreads to me lightening my mood some. I, too, am looking forward to seeing this store.
With our hunger sated we collect our trash, Ronnie excuses herself to the restroom. While I wait, I catch some of the conversation the old men are having. It ranges from golf to politics to farming, it’s all over the place which makes me smile at their randomness.
My smile slowly fades when one says, “Remember, here a while back, it was all the rage to wear those skin tight black, spandex style pants?” I’m sure he’s referring to leggings, I lean closer to hear what he’s saying when another in the group responds.
“Yeah, Freddy. I remember those.”
“You know, you would walk into Walmart and all these huge women would be wearing these skin-tight pants, busting at the seams with fat squishing out everywhere, it was nasty,” Freddy says, shaking his head in disgust.
“Yes, some women aren’t meant to wear that kind of stuff,” another adds.
“Imagine what it looks like when you take those off and release all the shit they’re holding in,” the third man comments, shivering in revulsion.
“I’m sure glad that phase has passed. It was a scary time to shop at Wally World,” Freddy chuckles.
I’ve heard enough. Grabbing our tray and dumping its contents in the trash, I speed walk toward the restroom to wait for Ronnie. Their words run on a loop in my head, churning the food I just ate. My heart is pounding, my skin itches, I restrain myself from marching back out to them. I’m pissed I stood there and didn’t call them out on their bullshit and angry at myself for letting their words bother me. They knew I was there. They knew I was a large girl, yet they still let their harsh words fly.
Not a one of those men were perfect, none were what you would look at and think, he was probably good looking when he was younger or wow, he’s a silver fox, yet they felt they could judge based on what they thought. Dickheads, complete asshats. A woman should wear whatever she feels comfortable in; not what others think she looks good in. You know what they say about opinions? They’re like assholes; everybody has one.
I live in leggings and yoga pants. I would have been one of those women to cause them disgust, had they seen me. I shouldn’t give a fuck what they think but now they have me questioning the clothes I have worn for years. Do others look at me a get disgusted by what I’m wearing?
Taking deep breaths, I force the rage out of my body, feeling a wave of sadness swallow me. I can’t tell Ronnie about this, she will go southern crazy on them if I do. She would explode like a volcano and that’s not good for her family name. I don’t understand why people feel the need to be so cruel and hypocritical.
Ronnie exits the restroom, placing a fake smile on my face, attempting to hide my despair, “Let’s go shopping,” I say.
Sensing something’s not quite right, she asks, “Are you ok? Your face is all red.”
Looping my arm with hers once more, blowing out a huge breath, I respond, “Yep, yep.”
Holding my head high, we glide back through the restaurant, not even giving the old men a cursory glance when we pass. Crossing to the other side of Main Street, I look at the shops on this side of the street. Walking silently together, enjoying the fresh night air, Ronnie jerks me to a stop at a small clothing boutique, insisting I need some new undergarments, she pulls me inside.
I’m measured, the sales lady also being large chested is understanding and very helpful while we find bras to fit me. When we leave, I have several new bras and the panties to match. I refused to get the thongs Ronnie kept showing me telling her there is no point in wearing them if they just get lost in my rolls and I can’t stand the string up my ass. She’s frustrated with me but assures me I will feel prettier with Victoria hiding her secret under my clothes. After the amount of money she spent for such a little bit of material, I’ll take her word for it, no secret should cost that much.
Bags dangling from our fingers, we stop in front of a store that looks like it belongs on the Las Vegas Strip. Bright flashing lights, a large neon hand glowing in the window on the left with the words ‘palm readings’ flashing in the middle, twinkling lights in the window on the right boasting the name of the store, Sit and Read for a Spell.
A bookstore/magic shop? This is where she wants to go?
“You want to go into a magic store?” I ask turning to her with wide eyes.
“It’s run by Gypsy’s,” she beams bouncing on her
