He said it, I said it and we were all thinking it so what's the big deal?

There is a lot to be said about the mall. Especially a mall next to a mall. I can't say enough good things about being able to run from store to store for hours on end looking for a needle in a haystack. It is very satisfying.

Today I was on a shopping mission. I went alone as my time was short and my goals large. I normally love shopping with others, but today I didn't have time to entertain anyone else's agenda so I had to fly solo.

I was looking for a lightweight cargo type pant. Seems a simple enough task. Not so. I mistakenly thought that the cargo was seasonless and always in style.

However, I could not find what I was looking for anywhere. I don't give up or tire easily. I wasn't being lazy about it. I simply couldn't find them.

Come on. In my mind I was thinking I would have to sift through the billions of different kinds of cargo pants to find the perfect ones for me (and by that I do mean my special needs thighs).

No no, I'm not being mean to myself, I am being factual. I'm not really emotional about it (anymore). My thighs are disproportionately large. They are muscular, a thought I used to try and comfort myself with in school. Hmmmm.

My thighs have been this way since about the third grade. I distinctly remember sitting in the second row from the left in Mrs. McCabe's class wearing thick Lee jeans on one of the hottest days of the year. (Nancy wouldn't let us wear shorts to school. Cardboard wings and a crown were fine, but shorts were apparently hideously offensive and inappropriate). I looked down at my legs which I was sure I would find to be on fire when I noticed that my thighs "spread out" on the chair more than most everyone else's did. This was the beginning of a life long obsessive hate/hate relationship with my thighs. Additionally, it was about this time that I began to appreciate the "no shorts" rule.

I would like to present to the unbelievers, exhibit A:

In the 7th grade Tony soandso called me "tree trunk legs." I was mortified. Mostly because it confirmed the conversation I had been having in my head for years. I said it. He said it. And now it was out there.

My thighs became an individual that seemed separate from myself. I talked to them and about them constantly. It wasn't just about their size either. Their length came under fire, their pasty plucked chicken skin appearance elevated them to freak show level in my mind.

Anyway, because of my limbs, buying pants has always been a challenge. Jeans especially. I need a wide leg for my wide leg.

I love when I actually find a pair of pants that is "thigh minimizing." I usually by two. In every color. That is why I was looking forward to my cargo pant hunt. The chances of there being a baggy but flattering pair with the pockets in all the right places seemed good. However, much to my chagrin, the linen pant seems to have replaced the cargo for the time being.

I may have come up empty today but I am like a dog with a bone when I get a fashion "want" in my head. Cargo pants now have a holy grail quality about them and I will continue my quest in other cities and on the web and to lands far beyond if necessary.

Thunder thighs may have won this round but I have many cards yet to play. What am I, an amateur?

On the evolution of style (ok, my style)

I feel as though I haven't reached the pinnacle of my own personal style. Just like most therapists I've come from my own fucked up shit and now I think I have learned just enough to help others. However, I am still working on myself.

My goal is to bookend my life with great individual style.

My fashion sense was quite adventurous when I was a kid. From awareness until about 6th grade I was really creative with my clothing choices. Then all that insecure, "I want boys to like me, I should be more normal/skinny" stuff happened and created a big, fat grey area in my fashion history.

My favorite stuff pre-premature puberty (which really ruined everything) was any skirt or dress that was layered like a cake, anything that twirled, had sparkles, resembled a princess or someone from a bygone era. My idea of "vintage" was the pilgrim outfit and I wore it to school faithfully every year for Thanksgiving until it no longer fit and even then I think I wore the hat long after.

I sported cardboard wings with glitter (stolen from Kim's girl scout ceremony), party hats, bright green gauchos, wands, and blue courdory pants with lions' heads. I reached fashion nirvana when Kim started taking ice skating lessons. Those ice skating costume designers really know how to do it. I strongly felt they were more appropriate as street wear. I actually started taking lessons myself for the clothes. Imagine my extreme disappointment when in my first show we were fucking lightbulbs (horrible look) and in my second show we were stupid, ugly railroad workers. I was a girly girl. I did not appreciate masculine style at the time. I quit after that disaster and just waited for Kim to be done with the blue gingham, tulle number with the red sequin trim and shiny red butt bow.

Dreamy.