The Biggest Size They Make
You’ve been fat long enough to have an uneasy truce with your wardrobe. There was a time when you agonized over it, cursed it, packed it all up and sheepishly brought it back out when nothing else fit. Back when you were still buying clothes for people of relatively normal size, anyway. You’d keep struggling into your thin clothes, won back after a long slog of dieting, for as long as you could manage, in denial over the ten or twenty or thirty pounds more you had gained since they fit properly. Then you’d go back to your fat clothes, grudgingly, tantalized by the thin clothes hanging in your closet or folded in your drawers, reminding you of the body you used to have.
But then one day your fat clothes became your thin clothes, and you needed fatter clothes. Then the same thing happened with your fatter clothes. And your even fatter clothes. You were in a constant state of watching your body expand, fill them, and overflow badly enough that eventually you had no choice but to size up. You had to try and manage always having more of your body to try and dress, or at least conceal — a fight that rapidly turned into a losing battle, then a rout.
Once you had to start shopping at specialty stores for people of size, you struck that uneasy truce. You stopped expecting too much from clothes — finding something that fit all over and was remotely affordable was too much to ask, you realized, settling for full coverage and considering anything more a bonus — and they, in turn, stopped embarrassing you quite so regularly.
At a certain size, of course, clothes are always going to betray you; however much you may want to, you can’t camouflage a few hundred surplus pounds of fat. Either you wear clothes that are too big, thinking they’ll disguise your proportions when really all they do is leave a viewer’s mind to fill in the gaps in your elephantine proportions; or you wear clothes that fit properly (at least as close as they ever come to fitting on fat people, which is never really that close, you’ve found) and tacitly admit to having every roll, fold, and bulge on your body. And with clothes that fit, you always run the risk of a minor indecency: the reach, scooch, bend, or stretch that, unbeknownst to you, leaves some underbelly hanging out, or some butt peeking over your waistband, or a roll bulging out for everyone to see. But at least with clothes meant for fat people, that only happens frequently at the end of a cycle in a given size, spaced out more than when you started packing on your weight.
Except recently, you started having a problem. It’s the sixth — seventh, maybe? — time you’ve upsized your wardrobe, and… this is it. You’ve run out. You’re in the biggest sizes you can find anywhere; nobody makes anything that’s, well, bigger than you. What’s going to happen if you keep going, outgrow this size, need something more?
You put it out of your mind for a while. But your subconscious didn’t forget; it subtly kept track of your proportions as you gradually filled out this last irreplaceable size. As your arms and thighs puffed and puckered, filling out your sleeves and cuffs until they began pinching your fat inward. As your chins started to overflow the neckline. As your belly peeked, then sagged, then fully flowed out from under your top. As your ass expanded beneath your voluminous elastic shorts until they were stretched to a taut, creaking, ready to burst fullness. Your clothes are barely hanging on; they can’t take much more of this mistreatment.
Except you don’t really notice. You have bigger problems on your mind. And you’ve realized why this is the final size anyone makes: anyone bigger than this doesn’t need clothes. They’re the size of the couch they never leave. The tremendous blubber burying them dictates their schedule from then on. They don’t try to go anywhere they would have to wear clothes that fit — because they can’t go anywhere.
And at this point… neither can you.
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