Celebrity journalist extraordinaire
A cursory lap proved that unless I wanted to wear camo, ill-fitting Dickies, be-dazzled sweatshirts and a muu-muu, all in a size 12 or above, I would be out of luck. It was time to get creative. Shoes weren’t an issue. I could get them to cut off the bottoms of my legs. But pants mattered since I would be sitting on a couch. Wal-Mart’s one saving grace is it carries a junior line of Phat Fashion Silver label jeans, and except for a rhinestone button in the front and a sparkly peacock on the ass, they’re perfectly inoffensive as long as you sit down. And cost $7. But tops were tricky. There were belly baring tank tops and there were sweaters that could house a family of midgets. But alas, out of the corner of my eye I spotted a plain white button down. It wasn’t sexy, but it was 1 am. Closer inspection revealed it was a maternity top ($4.99). It would have to do.
With the dressing rooms closed I tried to change in the ladies plus-size lingerie department. Tried until I spotted a homeless gentleman with his hands in his pockets by the nursing bras.
So I threw the maternity button down on over the wombat and surveyed myself in the mirror. It wasn’t half bad. If only I had a belt to corrall the belly bustle I could do this. The selection of belts did me no favors until I wandered into the children’s department to find a darling elastic black number attached to an imitation Hello Kitty shirt dress ($3.99). I could cut it off the dress and make like Molly Ringwald going to the prom.
What Wal-Mart does provide and no woman should ever discount when appearing on television is a fine selection of delightfully cheap and large jewelry which may make you look like Snooki in real life, but really makes a statement on camera. A pair of giant earrings and a chunky necklace later I pulled it together—by 2 am and for under 20 bills.
Diane Sawyer I was not that morning, but I did pass for professional put together lady—as long as I didn’t stand up.