Chapter 11: Marian Reconnects with Celeste

That night we made glorious love together and once again slept in the nude. I was very conscious, drifting off to sleep, that if the house caught fire in the night, I’d probably burn to death while attempting to dress before escaping.

I had dreams of being outside in nothing more than a sheet when a dozen burly, musclebound firemen in sleeveless tee shirts and yoga shorts came to put out the flames. Dreams often make no sense!

In the morning I thought I’d had an accident overnight. It was mortifying but I played it off as having slept in the wet spot we’d created the night before. Only I knew that I’d added to the wet spot in my sleep.

The next day I went browsing for a few new items of clothing, still considering what Herbert had shared the evening before about modesty. I’d almost completely convinced myself he was right, but acting on his opinions would be much harder.

How Spot could be so casually completely naked around just about anyone including her brothers, I still didn’t know.

My first stop was Walmart. I’m not a Walmart shopper usually. Their products are cheap, inferior and almost 100% made by child labor, but their merchandise appeals to the common folk at admittedly, a great price point. I wasn’t there to save money, though.

I went there because average people use Walmart. If I was to change Herbert’s unspoken opinion of me as being a stuck up, fake, supercilious bitch the way he had painted my church friends, then where better to obtain attire to affect the outward change? First I had to do some people-watching though. I did that by perusing the aisles.

I discovered that I didn’t really pay a lot of attention to those around me except at church, where doing so is encouraged in order to better understand our friends and neighbors.

Pastor Leon had often delivered sermons about integrating oneself into the community and I’d taken that to heart; only now I was finding that my community boundaries stopped at the doors to the church.

Walmart opened my eyes for the first time - I’d never really focused on those around me. I usually shopped at a well stocked supermarket where my ladies group at church shopped and I frequented other retailers that each specialized in certain types of consumables - shoe shops, dress shops, homewares stores, garden centers - not a one-stop shop like Walmart.

Where I shopped, one of my requirements was that everything be always kept pristine. At my usual grocery for example, there were never allowed to be gaps in the shelves or wilted produce. Another thing I’d never see would be unsightly carts unattended or with just a flier or candy wrapper as their only contents. Walmart was just messy.

Here, I witnessed an obesely overweight woman tooling around in a store owned powered cart while one of her older children pushed a shopping cart that held two more little ones and another two were ripping and tearing, corralled only marginally by the overweight woman’s loud voice.

I had to force myself past thoughts of her parenting skills to what she was wearing. Usually I would have paid attention only enough to offer my opinions on what she was doing wrong but this time I bit my tongue and simply observed her and her children’s attire.

She wore what was clearly once an undershirt. It wasn’t even a basic tee shirt. The arm holes were big enough that I probably could have fit my entire body through one. I’d once heard of the style called a wifebeater and it was a men’s undergarment. Herbert owned a dozen.

The woman wore no additional underwear underneath her top. Her unfettered breasts were as large as mine and sagged so much, they were almost down in her lap as she sat in her power chair. The side of her breast was partially visible when she raised a flabby arm to point to something. I wondered what sort of life she’d lead that had caused them to be like they were. I immediately thought of Spot’s friend, the hucow (human cow, she’d called herself).

Her bottom half was covered by yoga pants that had as many food stains on them as her top and her large, plump feet had been slipped into flip flops as if their next destination was to be a beach. I couldn’t imagine her walking ten feet under her own power much less along a beach.

Her children, the girls anyway, were at least fully dressed, unlike their mother. Both were overweight for their apparent ages but at least they looked healthy.

One wore jeans so tight they’d ripped in numerous places from the knees up to the girl’s upper thighs. Luckily all the rips were in the front although the teen’s caboose threatened to blow out the main seam in the back and the girl’s waistband was so tight her stomach looked like a muffin top, the way they are much larger than the muffin cup.

She didn’t even hide her protruding stomach. Her tee shirt was half a dozen sizes too small - she’d clearly outgrown it years earlier and hem left a four inch gap of bare skin. The outline of her bra was apparent and her shirt featured the word ‘Pink’ in big letters over her bust, as if drawing attention to it. I wondered if it was a racist white-power slogan. I’d been told that Walmart shoppers are all racist.

The other child, somewhere between fourteen and sixteen, wore a skirt that didn’t even come to mid thigh and still sat low on her hips. When she reached for something on a shelf I saw a hint of red lace peek from under the waistband. A child in lace underpants? I was quietly outraged.

At least she was more substantially covered up top. There was no bare skin between her skirt and top. I counted three different colors of straps on her shoulders but her upper clothing was still so tight I could count the fat rolls on her sides and her breasts were clearly defined with the locations of her actual nipples apparent.

She clearly didn’t care that even under three layers her nipples were tenting the fabric. She acted as if no one would notice them. Maybe that was why she wore three layers? To disguise embarrassingly taught nipples that protruded through the fabric of her bra and two additional layers?

They carried on as if totally oblivious to anyone around them despite the scene they themselves were making.

The next shopper that caught my attention was a woman wearing nothing more than a black sports bra and matching black yoga pants. It looked like she’d come here directly from a marathon and the only thing missing was the number that should have been pinned to her top. But her yoga pants were so tight I could practically see what she had for breakfast. It was quite unsettling.

Then I saw a man and woman strolling the aisles holding hands and quietly talking and laughing as they looked at random items for sale. She was in a dress and also had large breasts that I initially thought threatened to pop out at any moment, her cleavage dipped so far. Only upon further inspection did I realize her bra was designed to make her breasts bulge the way they were.

She was anything but concerned about people noticing her bust - in fact it was like she was advertising its existence despite clearly being involved with the man at her side. How could she not care that men could simply raise their eyes and watch her bouncing along like that?

The more I watched people, the more I saw that fewer than half of the women in the store did much of anything to hide their bodies even when those bodies would have been better off covered in a nun’s habit.

Those women were literally advertising themselves as if proud of the overweight or anemic or frail state of what most were offering. I came to the conclusion early on that Walmart was more of a meat market than a supermarket with apparently no age minimum for what I’d always considered inappropriate attire.

But if that’s what women wear these days without the slightest care for what others think, then it was me who was out of touch just like Spot had suggested.

The question was, if I purchased the most risque outfit I could bear to wear in public and presented myself to Herbert, would he think I’d become a slut? I wished I’d brought him along.

I did eventually buy a couple of items, although when I first tried the canvas skirt on I was scandalized at my own image in the fitting room mirror for two reasons.

First, seeing myself in the mirror wearing the long sleeved blouse I’d arrived in with my hair pulled up into a severe bun and my knees and two inches past them bare, made me feel a little like a clown which highlighted the second thing. My makeup. I had the same half pound of makeup that Herbert had ridiculed the evening before.

The Walmart customers I’d inspected either wore no makeup at all or in a lot of instances, various amounts of eye makeup seemingly donned to draw the eye of anyone looking at them. A lot of younger women and even girls, utilized a lot of mascara and nothing else.

Lipstick was either absent, very subtle or a focal point. I’d seen two girls with black lipstick and one with the deepest, most enticing shade of red that if she hadn’t been otherwise very plain with hair clipped up in a messy mop on her head and in a long sundress, I would have thought her to be a street walker. She also had armpit hair that peeked out even with her arms down. She had to have no personal hygiene standards at all!

I pledged right then and there to return to my makeup lady at Macy’s and discuss a new look.

The other item I purchased was a simple sleeveless tee shirt. After I paid and left the checkout, I nervously donned the new ensemble in the shop’s ladies room. My skirt, slip, undershirt, blouse and pantihose went into the Walmart bag and after a few deep breaths and a quick prayer to God, I exited the ladies room into the swell of Walmart traffic going by. I felt almost naked compared with how I usually dress and my bra was obvious under the top.

I could feel all eyes on me but see none. It was like for the most part, I was invisible yet I felt like I was parading myself, as I said, in front of a store full of strangers almost in the nude.

I could feel my breasts within my bra, too. Although encased in the same bra I’d donned this morning, it was like the bra was no longer holding my breasts as firmly. I know it was really only my imagination but it truly felt like I was jiggling more and my nipples were certainly poking holes in my tee shirt like the unfortunate child I’d described earlier.

What I didn’t understand was that it wasn’t even cool outside. Why my nipples were hard was confusing and embarrassing to me.

I nearly collapsed into my seat when I finally reached my car. To say this now, I feel silly, but at the time I was relieved I’d challenged myself and succeeded. I felt empowered that I had done something so outrageous (it was to me!) and grateful to God for giving me the strength to overcome my fear.