Because of a little Nor’Easter, I had power last night but not the Internet.  Therefore, I cuddled up on the couch with my dog, some magazines and my new copy of “The Handmaid’s Tale.”  I watched the series on Hulu but had actually never read the book so I decided I wanted all the details and more background.

Before jumping into that book, I decided to read Glamour magazine for a little mindless entertainment and vanity – I do care what the most recommended skin care products are considering I still get acne in my early 40s.  I’ll try anything at this point.

I was reading about the need for better plus size fashion options and the designers who are getting more into it.  I read about a company which will help designers who don’t necessarily have the templates, tools or patterns for plus size by supplying them with the necessary items.  One of their selling points is that 2/3 of American women are size 14 or over.

So I am actually in the 1/3 category.  I am not the average American woman.  I am a rarer find.  And yet, I obsess over calories, get upset when I miss a high intensity workout because then I am keeping food on my body I can’t get rid of, worry incessantly my injuries/aches & pains will make me have to slow down, and take a prescription to control food urges so I can better control my weight and never go back to 67%.  I look at my naked body in the mirror every morning and yank my gut up to see how much thinner I would look by straightening it out.  Every day I am disgusted by my fat and ashamed of not being thin.

But I’m in the 33%.  I should be sought after.  I should be better than average.  No, I’m not in the single digits but I haven’t been in the 14 and over for 7 years.  I was single a lot during my fatter years but at least it made sense to me.  When you are in the 67% range, I assume it’s harder to shine – at least it was when I was there.  But it still feels just as hard now.  Maybe it’s the 67% and then only a portion of the 33% who matters – the size 6 and under.  8-12 is a Bermuda Triangle of worthlessness?  Size medium is the middle child?

I can’t make sense of how I am void of value.  Mathematically, this just isn’t adding up.