Which brings me to the subject of the nothing I had to wear.  On any given day, it would be easier for me to dress for a mermaid parade than a court hearing.

My footwear choices consist of one lone glitter heel, tap shoes made from converse sneakers, motorcycle boots and silver crocs unfit for public view. Both polka dot dresses are on strike below a mountain of laundry. I am forced to branch out. I find an ill fitting snakeskin print dress with the price tag still attached (because of the ill fittingness I have never worn it ). I pair it with a silver and black cardigan. I straighten my hair, apply mascara, 5 minutes before departure I find my missing glitter heel, because..magic?  Because things just HAVE TO work out. I look straight out of Boca.  I recall zero movie plots revolving around an old Jewish lady in the clink. So I feel pretty confident that my outfit will keep me out of jail.

And it does, but just barely… I really should have been arrested for my wardrobe, because the dress I am wearing is a crime.

I’m not saying I didn’t look fine as hell, cause I did. I am saying that whoever made my dress deserves a spanking with a chainsaw. In fact, I would go so far as to say….whoever is designing clothes for plus size women in general should stop..JUST STOP.  Step away from your pencil and call me.

There are two elements of the plus size wardrobe that infuriate me. The first is the inappropriate ruffle. I know what you are thinking, “ruffles are wonderful”. Yes! Yes an appropriate ruffle is one of the greatest achievements known to man. Ruffles make for the perfect flirty skirt, they hide a multitude of sins and give an adorable albeit toddler-like appearance to a romper.  I love them.

But this dress that I was FORCED to wear because it was the only thing clean and I can NOT be expected to do my laundry when I have court and spiders to worry about, THIS DRESS has no business existing. It had a superfluous ruffle. Right up top. A ruffle just for covering the fabric that covers the boobs, like a little table cloth on top of a tablecloth. I prefer my boob covering fabric to look like this.

The snakeskin dress redundant ruffle almost ruined my day. It definitely ruined my love life…. while I was wearing it anyway.

How? Well this. Every time I walked in this stupid plus sized ruffled masochistic practical joke of a dress. The offending ruffle would fly up into my face, creating a 20 second burka, that would get stuck in my inevitably open mouth.

Then I spend the next several moments pushing the ruffle out of my mouth with my tongue while simultaneously blowing it away from my face. This happened without fail every time I made eye contact with a cute boy.  It was not a particularly windy day, but I am a big girl, I carry my own force of nature and the last thing a big girl wants is to look like she’s so hungry she will eat her own dress.

Sure! I have a choices, I didn’t have to purchase the trap dress of the dancing veils. I could have left it for some other unsuspecting plumper to humiliate herself while sauntering down main street.  But the choices in the plus size section of the store that fits my less-than-$20 belief system….those choices are my nemesis.

WORSE than an offending ruffle gag. More evil then a horizontal stripe. The SEWN ON ACCESSORY is the single most despicable crime of fashion in the world.  The sewn on vest, the sewn in dickey, the sewn on gold chain, the sewn on beaded half necklace. They boil my blood. These sewn on accessories are trying to kill me.  Accessories to MURDER is what they are.  And I don’t just mean that the wind is blowing them into my face, or that I am getting strangled in the glitzy glam of a sewn on choker.  I mean psychologically this style of plus size clothing kills me.  It kills me with the insinuation that I am too robust to lift a necklace over my head…That I am too slovenly to find my vest so I need one SEWN ON to my damn shirt.  Granted, I have lost many a vest to the tragedy of a messy closet…but I don’t want to be reminded of this by some condescending clothes designer for the ample bodied…No, I prefer no mention of it at all.

I have drawn the conclusion that Court is one of the few places an artist bows to conformity.  One of the few times caring what people think is paramount to expressing oneself. And in those moments, the queen sized woman in our society is simply screwed.

If everything happens for a reason, I think the baby spider debacle was a sign from the universe telling me to design clothes again, to dust off my old sketches and have some prototypes made…I mean someone has got to do something about this travesty, we cant have girls being punched in the face by their own unnecessary ruffles and half necklaces. If you think about it, my car could have been infested by anything! Birds, bugs, tree frogs, ghosts, lizards, mice, anything could have distracted me into a parked car…But it was spiders. Natures very own weavers that assaulted me.  If that ain’t a sign, well then I am not a slightly overreaching semi-paranoid neurotic sign reader.