In Search of “Medium”

fatjeans They called me Miss Piggy as a child and it was not as a term of endearment. I was the chubby kid and now the chubby adult who strategically disguises it behind the right clothing. I make an effort to live a healthy lifestyle however I will not deny myself the good stuff. Keep this in mind whilst I inform you that as per my recent efforts to stockpile, ahem, shop, for my return trip to oh so expensive Chile I found that I am officially “small” now. Those of you who know me are choking on something at this point.
I would first like to thank the lovely people of the Old Navy line of clothing for fast tracking my size from what in the high-end clothing industry is called a size 12 to an ego boosting 4. Coming in a close second are the people who produce Disney attire at the theme parks. As per the employees they stopped selling a size “small” a “while back” leaving me with a “medium” sized t-shirt that will fit on me like a dress much like the starving African child featured in We Are The World Video.
And oh yes, it is my duty as a citizen of these fine United States to fill in the ample space awarded to me by these newfound sizes. As I write this my circulation is being cut off at the waist by jeans purchased in Chile. They must have shrunk in the drier, after all I am still a medium, no wait, I am, by golly a “small”.

Back in the USA, Wow, I’ve Changed.

gringolandia
It has been a year and a half since our family left the USA. We relocated to a suburb of Santiago, Chile known as Chicureo. Our family arrived at Miami, FL, USA at 5 in the morning on Christmas Eve. After landing I bent over to gather my belongings and muttered “Finally! No more being stared at!” and sure enough as soon as I looked up there were two young passengers , point blank , eyes glaring at me like I just landed from another planet and not another country. I had spoken English on a LAN flight to the USA. So I chuckled, pointed at them and proceeded to retract my statement “Not yet, but soon.”
The first stop at the airport was the bathroom as every self-respecting parent knows. In between the male and female restrooms stood my youngest, face-to-face with an unfamiliar object until the eldest cut in front and drank from it. ” Water fountain!” I watched and smiled as they taught him how to push the button and slurp the rainbow of free, clean and bubble free water.
We spent so much time fantasizing about food we missed while living in Chile. Like a prisoner on death row planning his final meal we planned our gastronomical tour of favorite haunts in the USA. Our first meal as a family ended-up being a revelation in terms of defining “American”. Nothing says USA like a Mexican lunch truck serving hot and spicy food, in English and Spanish 24/7.
I am a conformist now. I was quite the opposite in my little town of Chicureo. No matter how outspoken or outlandish I thought I was my adopted country of Chile had tamed me in ways I am now beginning to appreciate. My ears had to readjust to parents shouting at their kids and strangers voicing their unsolicited opinions.
At first I must admit I celebrated when I heard a fellow parent publicly reprimand their child. Back in Chile I often asked the mothers for their secret. I never witnessed a Chilena openly lose her patience and yell at her child. Somehow they found a subtle way to keep their kids in line. I am sure I got my fair share of stares that way, not from disciplining my kids, but for raising my voice in order to achieve it. Point for Chile.
And oh the complaining! Dear God the USA is a nation of whiners. Then again my peers in Chile were raised under a dictatorship so this freedom of speech thing has not become the monster that it is in the USA. While in Chile I begged the people to speak-up and now in the USA I am begging the people to tone it down. Please, I can hear you, all the way across the store.
Before I part ways with today’s blog entry I would like to thank those of you you hit that “like” button on my blog. What I would love more are some questions, comments or suggestions on what to write about. Post a link to your blog or item of interest on my comments so I can do the same for you. I am honored to know someone finds what I write interesting and worthy of discussion or sharing.
Hasta la pasta from Gringolandia.