My brother is getting married this weekend in Austin at the Four Seasons. My children are in the wedding, they are truly looking forward to dressing up in their fancy clothes. Me, not so much.

My mother and I went shopping for a dress a couple of weeks ago and it was a holy hell nightmare. My mother and I are the complete opposite. Except for the fact that we both drink coffee, we have nothing in common. I am a little overweight right now. I lose and gain the same 40 pounds over and over again. Right now I am on the gain side of it. My mother however is small with big boobs. She bought the boobs and tucked her tummy a decade ago. I have to admit she looks pretty good for a woman her age, (59). She has forgotten that she too once had my body before the scalpel, and acts like she obtained her awesome bod with diet and exercise. Whatever.

She kept bringing me fug dresses that were too small and if by some miracle they did fit, they somehow made me look even worse. I was starting to freak when she brought in the final dress, the dreaded little black fat dress. It was decent and very black, because that is what you are going for of course at a wedding. I was exhausted, beaten and bruised by all of the trying on -- so I caved.

Now I a worried that I look like I am pregnant in it, and I might lie. But if I lie, and say that I am, I can't drink -- so scratch that idea. I am getting the cliche spray tan, because some fashion genius of the new millennium decided that pantyhose are passe. I do have smoking legs. Thanks to debilitating device of the 90s called the StairMaster. (I was on the loss side of the 40 back then.)

The irony is that I have held onto these little black satin slipper shoes since I was a teenager. They were my mother's in the seventies. I am going to wear them with this little black fat dress and pray that they hold up. They are almost as old as I am. I tried them on today and wore them around my house for about fifteen minutes, until I could not take the pain any longer. I am screwed, I know.