I spent a lot of time thinking about the confluence of my first internal surgery and the hurricanes coming down to Florida last year, because it all happened around this time.
One thing that happened during my bout with uterine fibroids was I gained a ton of weight, and I was chubby to begin with. I arrived in New York City last year wearing a size 20. (Yeah, I know!) I was actually happy with that, because I'd worn a 22 right before my surgery. I now fit comfortably into a size 16; I'll be happy if I can go down to a size 12.
I saw appeals for plus-size clothes. So I figured I had some to spare. They were gently-worn, even. I bagged, labeled, and boxed them up today, with sizes on the outside. I bought them in Florida, so they'll be suitable for the climate. L'Ailee put together a bag, too. Her itty-bitty clothes will probably go to the tween-age kids, who I hope will appreciate her interesting combination of jock-girl and goth-girl. (Actually, she put in quite a few basic things--"How many black and gray tank tops do I *need*?")
I hear a lot about how even America's poor people are fat and how there are so many fat evacuees. That's not a good thing. I suggest that anyone who wants to make comments like that take a good hard look at what's available in the grocery store. Look at what has a "WIC-approved" label under it--milk, eggs, butter, white bread with no fiber, "juice" boxes with a trace of actual juice, canned fruit with heavy syrup (which means, sugar-water.). Think about how many working poor people don't even have the food stamps. Compare the price difference between a box of Little Debbie apple cakes and a pound of fresh apples. Actually look at how many apples a pound of apples is--usually three or four. Better yet, don't go to *your* grocery store. Go to one like Food Lion or Bi-Lo or Sav-a-Lot, in a poorer neighborhood. Try to figure out what a mom can get to feed her kids healthily when she only has thirty dollars a week to work with, in that store.
Then shut the hell up about the refugees' size, why don't you? A bit of knowledge can silence the most pompous windbags, if it gets to penetrate.
Some peoples' suffering didn't begin with Katrina, and won't end there, either.
And me, I danced around the small but serviceable house, "pannicule" and all, and gleefully exclaimed over how there's no way in hell I'll ever need those great big clothes anymore.