Does this outfit make me look fat?

On the way out on my shopping trip Sunday morning, slightly hung over and a bit short on sleep from the night before, I was thinking that love is exhausting and that perhaps chocolate might do just as well for the endorphin rush. That was before I tried on bathing suits in front of a three way mirror. It was the same sort of shock the ground hog must feel upon seeing his shadow and realizing there would be at least six more weeks of deprivation before spring. Even though chocolate is only a distant memory, I can see clearly that our relationship was lengthy and damaging. I put on my clothes, gathered up the shopping bags I had accumulated, left the pitiless skimpy garments in the dressing room, and headed for home. My ever solicitous husband greeted me at the door with a hug and kiss, taking note of the pink striped Victoria’s Secrets bag. I came out of the bedroom a few minutes later and modeled one of my new black bras and panties with the tags still attached. He was appropriately appreciative of the, shall we say, “presentation quality” of the garments. I snuggled with him on the couch and he asked if I had gotten the bathing suit I went out to buy. I relayed my frustration about the try on process and he sweetly reassured me that I looked wonderful. By way of encouragement, he pulled up a picture on the laptop from last year when I was 90 pounds heavier. I countered with another when I was 40 pounds lighter and thirty years younger. I whined a bit about wanting everything now, being tired of the constant diet and exercise, and then, without thinking, I baited an old familiar trap. I told him I would love to have a cup of tea and one of those wonderful ginger cookies from Colonial Williamsburg. We buy them every time we visit, but he swore he had no recollection of them. Then, although he was toggling between Nascar and basketball, the man offered to drive the 60 miles down there and get me some. It sounds like a sweet gesture right? Well, women are f-ing hard to please now, aren’t they? I explained gently and sweetly that he was an enabler and that just because I said ginger cookie, I didn’t actually want one, wouldn’t eat one if it was in front of me, and would be furious if he brought any home. I’m not sure if he actually understood or if he was just humoring the girl in the sexy underwear, but he thought for a while, and then offered to get me a cup of tea. I gave him a kiss, thanked him kindly, and got up to make my own cup. He’s learning, and I think I’ll keep him, but the man doesn’t even know how to turn on the electric kettle. I’ll save that lesson for another day.