My MIL Ordered Me a Dress Four Sizes Too Small for Her Party, Saying, 'It's Time for You to Lose Weight' – Karma Didn't Take Long to Catch up with Her
My MIL Ordered Me a Dress Four Sizes Too Small for Her Party, Saying, 'It's Time for You to Lose Weight' – Karma Didn't Take Long to Catch up with Her
My MIL ordered me a dress four sizes too small for her anniversary party, then laughed when I said it wouldn't fit. I bought my own dress instead. But at the party, I overheard two women talking about the dresses Clara had chosen for them, and suddenly realized mine wasn't the only one with secrets.
The dress was beautiful.
That was the worst part.
My MIL ordered me a dress four sizes too small for her anniversary party.
Blue satin, narrow waist, delicate sleeves, the kind of thing I might have chosen for myself before pregnancy changed what fit comfortably.
My daughter was three months old.
So when Clara called while I was at a department store and said she'd already ordered mine for her 40th anniversary dinner, I agreed to wait.
She'd already ordered mine for her 40th anniversary dinner.
Then I checked the tag.
The number was so far from my current size that I assumed the boutique had made some ridiculous mistake.
I stepped into the dress anyway.
It stopped before I could get it over my hips.
The number was so far from my current size.
I stared at myself in the mirror, one arm still caught awkwardly in the fabric.
My baby started fussing from the bassinet.
"Yeah," I muttered. "I know."
I peeled the dress off, folded it back into the box, and called Clara.
I stared at myself in the mirror, one arm still caught awkwardly in the fabric.
She answered on the second ring.
"Did it arrive?"
"Yes. I think they sent the wrong size."
There was a pause.
Then Clara laughed.
"No, honey. That's yours."
I sat on the edge of the bed.
"Clara, I can't even get it on."
"No, honey. That's yours."
"I know. The party is two weeks away," she said. "Plenty of time."
"For what?"
Another little laugh.
"It's time for you to lose weight."
I looked toward the bassinet.
My daughter had one fist beside her cheek and the deeply offended expression she wore whenever the world failed to feed her quickly enough.
"It's time for you to lose weight."
"Clara, I had a baby three months ago."
"And?"
"And I'm not losing four dress sizes in two weeks."
"Then perhaps you'll finally have some motivation."
I didn't answer.
Clara kept going.
"My son has always taken care of himself. The least you could do is make an effort too."
"Then perhaps you'll finally have some motivation."
"An effort?"
"Don't turn this into drama. Eat less. Walk more. You've had months."
"Months?"
"Jennifer, when was the last time you looked at yourself properly?"
I hung up.
***
Simon came home an hour later.
I was feeding the baby on the couch when he saw the dress box.
"Don't turn this into drama. Eat less. Walk more. You've had months."
"That the famous anniversary dress?"
I looked at him.
"Your mother ordered it four sizes too small."
Simon stopped halfway through taking off his jacket.
"By accident?"
"No."
His face crumpled.
I told him the rest.
The laughter.
The two-week deadline.
The suggestion that his wife needed to become more attractive for him.
"Your mother ordered it four sizes too small."
Simon sat beside me and rubbed one hand over his face.
"Jen..."
"Don't."
He looked at me.
"Please don't say she's just being your mother," I blurted.
His hand dropped.
For years, that had been his answer.
Clara criticized my cooking?
"That's just Mom."
"Please don't say she's just being your mother."
She asked whether Simon really liked the way I decorated our house?
"Ignore her."
He always supported me… privately.
That distinction had never bothered me as much as it did now.
"I'm not going to wear it," I said.
"Of course you're not."
"I'll buy something else."
He always supported me… privately.
"We'll buy something else," Simon corrected.
I looked down at our sleeping daughter.
Simon followed my eyes.
Then he sort of mumbled, "I should've shut this down a long time ago."
I didn't answer.
***
Two days later, Simon came shopping with me.
"I should've shut this down a long time ago."
I chose a nice dress with soft fabric and a waist that sat where my waist actually existed now.
I could sit in it.
Breathe in it.
Raise my arms without threatening the structural integrity of the garment.
When I stepped out of the fitting room, Simon smiled.
"That one!"
I chose a nice dress with soft fabric and a waist that sat where my waist actually existed now.
"You haven't seen the others," I said.
"Don't care."
I turned sideways toward the mirror.
Simon appeared behind me in the reflection.
"You comfortable?"
"Yeah."
"Then we're done."
I bought it.
What I didn't know was that Simon made a phone call later that afternoon.
"You haven't seen the others."
***
The anniversary dinner was being held at an expensive restaurant outside the city, the kind of place with linen napkins folded like sculptures and a private room larger than our first apartment.
Clara loved events like that.
She loved rules too.
The anniversary dinner was being held at an expensive restaurant outside the city.
Women in blue or black.
Men in tuxedos.
No casual jackets.
No patterned ties.
Professional photographer at 7:30.
Family portrait before dessert.
Clara had emailed everyone a three-page schedule.
When Simon and I walked inside, Dave spotted us first.
"There they are!"
Clara had emailed everyone a three-page schedule.
My father-in-law crossed the room and hugged Simon, then me.
"You look lovely, Jennifer."
"Thank you."
Then Clara turned around.
Her eyes went directly to my dress.
"That's NOT what I ordered."
"No," I acknowledged.
Clara gave me a slow once-over.
"I can see that."
"That's NOT what I ordered."
Simon moved closer beside me.
I kept my voice pleasant.
"The other one didn't fit… so I…"
"It would have if you'd listened," she shot back.
Dave looked between us.
"Clara..."
"What? I'm not going to lie to her."
Then she pinched the fabric at her own waist.
"The other one didn't fit… so I…"
"This one doesn't do you any favors either. It looks CHEAP."
Simon cut in, "Mom, enough."
The room seemed to shrink around those two words.
Clara blinked at him.
"I'm helping your wife."
"No. You're insulting my wife."
Her cheeks colored.
"I only want what's best for you, Simmy."
"This one doesn't do you any favors either. It looks CHEAP."
Then she looked directly at me.
"My son deserves a more attractive woman."
I looked at Simon, but suddenly I did not want to hear anyone defend me.
I did not want to become the woman standing in the middle of someone else's anniversary party while everybody debated whether my body was acceptable.
"My son deserves a more attractive woman."
"I need the restroom."
Simon reached for my arm.
"Jen..."
"I'm fine."
I wasn't, but I wanted five quiet minutes more than I wanted another conversation.
***
Inside the restroom, I locked myself into a stall and sat on the closed toilet.
I was angry.
I wanted five quiet minutes more than I wanted another conversation.
At Clara.
At myself for still being affected by her.
At Simon, a little, because years of "ignore her" had apparently taught his mother she could say anything and still have a seat at our table afterward.
After a minute, I heard the restroom door open.
Two women were talking near the sinks.
Years of "ignore her" had apparently taught his mother she could say anything and still have a seat at our table.
"Did yours fit?"
"Eventually."
"What does that mean?"
"Clara told the boutique to alter the sleeves."
I stopped moving.
The other woman laughed uneasily.
"Mine too. She said my arms photographed badly."
"You're joking."
"I wish."
Their voices faded when they left.
"Clara told the boutique to alter the sleeves."
I stared at the stall door.
My dress wasn't the only one.
Clara had not bought me an unfortunate gift.
She had been arranging women.
Then Clara screamed from somewhere beyond the restroom.
"Those are mine!"
I rushed into the hallway.
Clara screamed from somewhere beyond the restroom.
The private dining room had erupted into an argument.
A server hurried past me toward the entrance.
Three garment bags were hanging from a rolling rack beside a woman I didn't recognize.
She wore a sleek black suit and had a boutique name badge clipped near her shoulder.
Three garment bags were hanging from a rolling rack beside a woman I didn't recognize.
Clara had arranged for several women's dresses to be delivered directly to the restaurant for final fittings before the photographs.
Simon stood beside her.
Dave was a few feet away, looking deeply uncomfortable.
Clara had one hand gripping the handle of a garment bag.
"Ma'am," the woman said calmly, "please let go."
Clara had arranged for several women's dresses to be delivered directly to the restaurant for final fittings.
"I paid for those dresses!"
"You paid reservation deposits."
"Don't play games with me."
"Clara," Dave said, "let the woman do her job."
Clara spun toward him.
"This is our property!"
Comments
Post a Comment