Just Call Me Chris Farley

Today, I decided to embrace my new body.

I told myself that comfort is more important than a T-shirt size.

And while my pants are still fitting, I’ll eventually need some comfortable maternity pants (that are stylish).

Don’t worry about sizes.

Stay away from tight clothes.

And don’t even think twice about little tinny bikinis.

Just focus on comfort, cuteness, and class.

The three C’s to pregnancy fashion.

You know what happened instead?

I turned into Chris Farley.

Me including the dance moves.

Did I rip a dress in the fitting room?

You betcha!

Let’s break down this dressing room fiasco…

So, the first outfit I found was SUPER adorable.

I’m bumping out.
I want the world to know.
I’m gonna let it show.

I’m in love with these pants.
Also, no zipper = no pain.

I found a beautiful corral t-shirt as well! The shirt is lose fitting and has a high belt, so it makes my “bump” look cute too!

Next up, I tried on this dress.

Notice my eyeballs glued to my belly!
No need to say which feature looks best in this pic.
Husband approved.

So anyway, this particular dress was in the Juniors section – or maybe Misses. Either way, it was a size XXL.





OBVIOUSLY this would fit me, I assumed.

And it will look SUPER cute with leggings and brown boots that match the belt. I danced around a bit in the fitting room and then thought, “Hmmm this dress a little tight around the arms.”

Tight arms = the worst shirt ever. I don’t care how cute a shirt or dress is…I will never wear something that makes my arm fat feel like it’s being squeezed like a tight sausage or bratwurst.

So I stretched out my arms a little bit and then it happened.

The loudest ripping sound in all of North America.

I KNOW the lady next to me heard “The Rip.”

“Shut the front door,” I thought. “HOW FLIPPING EMBARRASSING!”

I spun around and the rip was massive.

We’re talking like….six or seven inches.

What do I do? 

Should I tell someone? 

Should I just hang the dress back on the rack? 

This is a massive tear…like a small dog or child could fit through this hole. 

What is wrong with me? 


After the period of pure panic was over, I found the situation really hilarious.

No one was at the fitting station when I first walked in.

So I told myself if no one was there when I left, then I would just leave.

I’ll leave a post-it note. 

With my number. 

Like it’s a car accident. 

Or a secret admirer love note. 

Fine no, I’ll just leave the dress on the rack.

But what if the they have video cameras? 

What if they see me again and put up a sign with my picture and only this description: THE  PREGNANT RIPPER.

I walked out of the fitting room and realized no one was around.

But I KNEW I couldn’t handle just leaving the dress there in that condition.

Just as I started to walk away, I saw a lady with a red shirt walking toward me.

I saw her walkie talkie.

That’s it.

The moment of truth.

I have to fess up.

I have to introduce myself as the one and only Mrs. Chris Farley….

“Um hi!” I said. “Sorry, but do you work here?”

(Obvious question – she was probably thinking, “Ummm yeah- what gave it away!? My red shirt, my name tag, or my walkie talkie?”).

“Yes,” she said.

“Well, um,” I started. “I just have to tell you something…and this is SUPER embarrassing, but I just can’t live with myself if I don’t tell the truth.”

She starred at me like I was about to tell her a story from Jerry Springer or confess to a crime. Well, fashion crime maybe…

“You see, I’m pregnant,” I said. “And I am experimenting with different sizes…and…well…I…well I ripped this dress!!!!”

She grabbed the dress from my hand and I continued, “I promise I’ll buy it. I feel so bad.”

“No,” she said. “It’s fine.”

She was trying not to laugh and I think she was starting to feel uncomfortable with my awkwardness and rambling.

“I mean really,” I said. “I’ll buy it! I can even put like a back patch or something…”




You don’t even know how to sew, Ashley!

“No really, it’s fine,” the lady said walking away as I continued talking.

“Well okay thanks-I mean, this has to happen all the time, right?” I asked desperately. “Like, I’m surely not the only person this ever happened to!?”

She kept a straight face and shook her head ‘NO’ – then she added, “I mean, I’m new here, but I’ve never seen this…”


I bet other people just put the dress back up like nothing ever happened…and then innocent people buy the dress and go home and then realize they have a rip the size oft the Nile river down their back…

“Oh yeah,” I said. “Right…totally…so see you later.”

Well, today I sure did accomplish my goal. I embraced my ever-growing body and found some comfortable clothes.

But the biggest victory of all was telling the truth and being able to laugh about it moments later -which is a huge improvement from crying about the situation (former self behavior).

Until my next Chris Farley moment, $40 to whoever designs me a cute dress with an awesome back patch.

And go.

Much love,

2 thoughts on “Just Call Me Chris Farley

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