For years, I've been digging through the S-M-L bins at Deb, pretending everything didn't fit like a shrink-wrapped baby tee. It was only about a year ago at the ripe old age of 27 that I broke down and admitted that I couldn't shop in the Juniors section at Kohl's anymore. (Denial, anyone?)
I'd cry into my Big Mac the entire ride home, lamenting about how many zippers I'd broken in the fitting room. Until I found my mecca. Lane Bryant, my favorite store ever. And it's not just
because they told me I'm a D-cup, when I've been wearing B's. (Because
that's the one good thing about putting on a few pounds, y'all.)
Smiling cashiers open the doors in unison with unjudging eyes and chubby angels sing hymns from the rafters that sound like hugs from Jesus. It is a refuge from the restrictions of 5-7-9
when I've had too many Kalteen Bars, a safe haven for curvy chicks everywhere.
They welcome you in
with a knowing smile, and you can leave your fears of a sob fest nothing-fits
shopping trip at the door. I had
no idea what I was missing. It was love at first sight of being on the "small" end of the LB size chart.
It's about damn time they made clothes for women with badonkadonks.