Weight Control Problem V

Pants were a problem before, and now, my shirts are taking their shot. I’m pushing the point where XL isn’t big enough anymore. Could I really be an XXL? I have short arms though. I can barely scratch the back of my head. My arms just come to the end of my sleeves right now. I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I look similar to Frankenstein’s monster. I’m a collection of body parts that shouldn’t be together. J-Lo’s ass. The T-Rex’s (the bad guy from Jurassic Park) arms. Malakili’s (Return of the Jedi) belly (*It’s a nice Star Wars reference. He’s the Rancor trainer). Regardless, I refuse to become an XXL. 

Tight fitting clothes frustrate me more than anything. I can remember when I was a kid growing out of pants but still wearing them because they were my pants. I’d walk around constantly yanking and pulling at my crotch and periodically yelling and waving my arms in the air as fast as possible to blow off the building frustration. The idea of tight-in-the-crotch fitting pants makes me want to explode just thinking about them. I’m one of the most laid back people you’d ever meet but you better not put some tight pants on me because I’ll FREAK out!

Today was the perfect storm. First, I have to mention that I wear gym clothes to work in the morning because I have swimming first period, so I change after first period to my teaching clothes. I only bring one shirt in the morning, so I only have one option. Well, this morning I grabbed a shirt that was too small. When I put it on, I could instantly feel I was going to rip it in multiple places; sadly, I’ve done this before. In fact, I’ve ripped a shirt, worn it home, forgotten about it, put it in the hamper, and worn it again. Pretty classy, huh? 

I put on the shirt only to find that it had French cuffs – with broken buttons (they couldn’t stay folded in half). The cuffs on my sleeves were 10 inches long and went about 4 inches passed my hands. I looked like a guy trying to pretend he lost his hands in the movies. If you’ve read my blog, you’ll be surprised to find that I’m actually quite fashionable and stylish. I know the whole not wanting to shower or brush my teeth points to the opposite, but alas, I care about the way I look. Back to the point, I rolled up my sleeves to the middle of my forearms creating two sweet, little tourniquets. I made it through most of the day controlling my anger and frustration. My shirt was slowly suffocating me and my arms were losing feeling; I literally had white spots all over my arms. When I reached the boiling point, luckily no one was in my room because I ripped the shirt off, stuffed it into a ball, punched it and threw it against the wall. 

I felt a little better but I still felt like I was being suffocated. Later, I learned that I was wearing the other swim coach’s undershirt (a large) the whole day! I was being freakin’ tag teamed. Undershirt shared the same grisly fate as normal shirt. BAM, into a wall. When I finally got that shirt off, I felt normal again. My anger subsided and the townspeople were safe.

By the way, the button up shirt made a bruise on my arm. I mean, seriously, does this happen to other people?