Chapter 1 - The Wrong SizeMy mother-in-law, Camille, and her husband Rowan were known for throwing extravagant parties. Every holiday came with expensive catering, professional servers, dozens of guests, and a strict dress code. They had the money for it, so elaborate celebrations were simply normal in their world.
My MIL Ordered Me a Dress Four Sizes Too Small for Her Anniversary Party, Saying, "It's Time for You to Lose Weight" — Karma Didn't Take Long to Catch Up With Her
Their 40th wedding anniversary was approaching, and they'd booked a private room at an upscale restaurant just outside the city. Camille had already announced the rules — women in blue or black, men in tuxedos, everything picture-perfect.
I was actually out shopping for a dress when she called.
"Honey, don't buy anything," she said. "I already ordered a dress for you. It should arrive soon."
I agreed to wait, though something about it made me uneasy. Camille had never exactly welcomed me into the family. In her eyes I was never quite good enough for her son — I didn't cook properly, didn't clean the way she thought I should, and she'd made it clear more than once that she believed Simon deserved "a better woman." Still, I tried to keep the peace.
Then the dress arrived.
It was gorgeous, honestly, which somehow made everything worse — deep blue satin, a narrow waist, delicate sleeves, exactly the kind of thing I might have picked for myself before my daughter was born and my body changed in ways nobody talks about enough. She was only three months old.
I checked the size tag and stared at it for several seconds. It was nowhere close to what I currently wore. I tried the dress on anyway, thinking maybe the boutique had mislabeled it.
It wouldn't even go over my hips.
I stood in front of the mirror with one arm tangled awkwardly in blue satin while my daughter started fussing in her bassinet. "Yeah," I muttered. "I know." I peeled the dress off, folded it back into the box, and called Camille.
She picked up right away. "Did the dress arrive?"
"Yes. I think the boutique sent the wrong size."
A pause. Then she laughed. "No, sweetheart. That's the one I ordered."
I sat down on the edge of the bed. "Camille, I literally can't get it on."
"I know."
"What do you mean, you know?"
"The party's two weeks away."
"So?"
Another little laugh. "So you still have time."
"For what?"
"To lose some weight."
I looked at my daughter, lying in her bassinet with one tiny fist against her cheek, wearing the deeply offended expression she always had when feeding was even slightly delayed.
"Camille, I gave birth three months ago."
"And?"
"And I am not going to lose four dress sizes in two weeks."
"Well, perhaps this will finally motivate you." She kept going before I could respond. "My son has always taken care of himself. The least you could do is make an effort too."
"An effort?"
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"Jennifer, don't turn this into drama. Eat less. Walk more. You've had months." A pause. "When was the last time you actually looked at yourself?"
I hung up.
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