And I'll have a chocolate shake, as long as we're here.

Yesterday Shannon and I risked the ever-so-cold to spend some quality shopping time at the Mall of America. While there, we stopped at Torrid, which is a "plus-sized" store that carries clothes from sizes 12 to like 28. Fat girls work there, and fat girls go there. Some of the clothes are very cute, others are very goth looking. Some of the clothes you pick up and definitely will buy if you can get a good deal, others you pick up to wonder why they decided to make a 4x-strapless-sequined-low-cut-crop-top-vinyl-cardigan.

It's a decent store if you can find the right thing, and they make the clothes bigger, so I think I could fit into some size 12s there and feel pretty good about myself. You're never the "fattest" girl in Torrid.

Because it's a store for fat girls, fat girls talk about their weight unabashedly. For example, the woman in line in front of us went off about how she'd lost 50 pounds and then gained 60 back. Why would you say this in a store like Torrid? Because you're ashamed to be there? And what about the girls working, the overweight girls who have to say, Wow, congrats on that weight loss! Who then look down at their over-sized bosoms in their low cut rock and roll t-shirts?

Is not the point of a store like Torrid (or Lane Bryant) to be proud of being fat? At least comfortable shopping, and not frustrated with never finding anything in your size. Not that I necessarily think anyone should be "proud" of being fat. If you're comfortable being fat, that's awesome. But you shouldn't be proud of it. You should be proud to be happy with yourself--and all of that other camp counselor shit I could go on and say right now, but won't.

I suppose one would feel comfortable talking about weight in Torrid, because there is a general understanding that fat girls have with each other. Of course, when you're in Torrid, being fat is what's on your mind. And being surrounded by fat girls, you can know that it's on their minds too. It was on my mind. It always is, how I look. That's just how it is. And I'm always buying some new pants, somewhere, so I have to think about it, you know.

Anyway, I was annoyed with this woman, because I couldn't really give two shits that she'd lost 50 pounds and gained it back. I didn't want to wait in line to hear her brag about being smaller and hoping to fit back into all of those clothes in her closet. Because talking about it that much (to strangers) is the first step to failing. Talking about it to other people, I think, is bad luck. Maybe if she'd still had the weight off. Maybe then she could talk. Otherwise, you're always speaking in the past, or in the future, and never about right now. You know that woman and her boyfriend went to Taco Bell after shopping at Torrid, and you know that because the food court is on the third floor, that they took the escalator up there. That's what one does after shopping at Torrid and talking about their former-but-gained-back-weight-loss. They go to Taco Bell, and they order bean and cheese burritos with nacho cheese for dipping, and they order a 32 ounce Code Red Mountain Dew, and they talk more and more how skinny they used to be. They're trying to convince themselves they'll get back there. Like, they went to Venice back in '87, for a short trip. Many of their sentences start When I was in Venice...and since the trip they've been saying--yeah, I can't wait to get back to Venice! I've been craving some Italian wine and those dark waters for so long! But they haven't booked a ticket, or called a travel agent. They haven't even started saving for the trip. They haven't even looked at pictures of Venice online.

Ladies. A little less conversation, a lot more action. Come on, now.

(I know! I've been there! I'm sort of there right now, because I just want to run, but I don't, but I talk about it all the time! ... It's so fucking cold.)

I'm ranting, and the point of this was supposed to be a punchline. Anyway. While this woman was in line going off about her-50-pounds-ago and Shannon and I were checking our watches and rolling our eyes behind her, the awkwardly-bodied girl working (very skinny legs, huge, um, fupa--is that what it's called? Darren?) told us an anecdote about how she'd once asked a customer if she'd wanted to get a Torrid punch card, to earn points for all of her purchases.

The customer responded: Oh, no. No thanks. I'm just passing through this Plus-size thing right now.

What? You're passing-through? This is your first stop on the way to Skinnytown, or Nobackfatville? You pulled over to use the restroom? This is a layover to your ultimate destination? And as long as you're here, you're just gonna have a cheeseburger and fries to hold you over until you get there?

Passing through. Stupid.