“I feel better when I have more weight on me." - Angelina Jolie

This? Is a trunk.
It lives at the end of my bed.

In this trunk are the clothes I cannot bear to part with, that just don't fit me currently.

They range from just-a-little-too-snug-for-real-comfort to not-able-to-go-over-my-hips to ohmigod-who-are-we-kidding, I-can't-fit-ONE-leg-in-these.

There are blouses with arms that are too tight;
there are t-shirts that are too short, exposing the belly.
Oh, the scary, scary belly.

There are muffin-top jeans.

There are pencil skirts that would look more like those chubby crayons preschoolers use.

There are shorts that are way too short for my body at the moment. Even if I could get them on, and buttoned, I would never expose unsuspecting people to the horror that are my thighs.

There's a bathing suit in there; I have exchanged it for a swim burqa for the summer.

There is even a dead-sexy red dress H bought me on our honeymoon that I will NEVER fit into again.

I have gotten rid of bags and bags of clothes; these are the ones I cannot bear to part with.

Some because I just love them: the red suede skirt, the French blue button-down, the grey silk slip.

There are some clothes that are the workhorses of my job wardrobe: straight grey or beige skirts, long black skirts, white blouses.

Some are running clothes that I don't fit into anymore. How bad is it when you don't fit into your workout clothes?

There's the straight grey wool knee-length skirt from Old Navy, with just a bit of stretch to it, that is a SIZE SIX. I KNOW it was a labeling error but I don't care. It once fit me beautifully, and made me look and feel thin and glamorous.
I could wear it with virtually anything - a navy silk blouse and black pumps and my silver choker for work; a black wool turtleneck and knee-length black boots for a wedding (or a funeral); a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and my black loafers for a casual Sunday dinner at my in-laws. I refuse to get rid of it. It's a size six, people! It once FIT ME. I may be more sentimental about that skirt than I am about my wedding photos or my babies' first shoes.

I weeded my closet the other day, pulling out everything that didn't fit.
I was left with the trunk full of clothes that don't fit me, and a closet very sparse in clothes that do: a blue-and-white print skirt; a pale blue linen skirt; a pair of brown linen capris; a pair of jeans; a pair of flat-front khakis (unfortunately with paint on them), an abstract print turquoise-and-black dress, and some neutral V-necked T-shirts.

If this doesn't motivate and inspire me to lose some weight, nothing will. Because it's gonna get mighty cold come fall, and I will have NOTHING to wear.

And NOBODY wants that now, do we?