I had an epiphany today.

Something happened to me that has never happened to me before.

It was profoundly disturbing. I felt like there was something wrong with the universe, like gravity had been reversed or the earth had stopped spinning.

Let me explain...

I was having coffee with my business partner last week and I commented that, one day, I wanted to be invited to a marquee at the Melbourne Spring Racing Carnival. (For non-locals, this is a month-long event based around horse racing where girls get to frock up and swan around exotic tents hosted by big business drinking free champagne and eating free food. It's the place to be seen in November and is très chic.) Peter, being the sort of guy that he is, called me two hours later to tell me he'd gotten us into a marquee.

This posed a dilemma. I needed something to wear, something utterly fabulous. I needed a frock of extreme gorgeousness, as well as a hat and shoes and a bag... well, you get the idea.

So, I took a deep breath, counselled myself to not be too disappointed when I couldn't find anything that I really wanted, and took myself shopping.

I went into a store which had some nice frocks, skirts and tops in nice drapey jersey that wouldn't show too many lumps and bumps. They were in red and black and would work in with the rest of my wardrobe.

They weren't what I really wanted. What I really wanted was a floral bit of nonsense that would make me an instant hit on the track. But they don't make those for big girls.

I decided to settle on a perfectly servicable draped red top and a nicely cut black skirt. There was a bit of consternation when I realised that the 14 (US 10) top fit better than the 16 (US 12), I wasn't used to that, but it was a nice buzz.

I bought them because they were suitable and there wasn't going to be anything else out there for me.

I wandered into some other shops and saw the floral frocks I craved, but none of them fit properly. Those shops never had anything to fit me.

I went into a store I'd never been into before. They didn't make clothes for big girls, so why would I bother? I casually browsed the racks, wistfully looking at lacy bits of nonsense and polka-dotted bits of nonsense and floral bits of nonsense.

I stopped in my tracks. She was black satin with a halter neck and a beautiful floral pattern. She had diamante buckles. She was exquisite. She was a 14 (US 10).

I put her back on the rack and walked away, disappointed, but not surprised.

I poked around a little more.

She called to me.

I walked back to her rack and pulled her out. She was beautiful. I bit my lip in thought. What the heck, what harm was there in trying her on? I probably wouldn't even be able to pull her over my head. But there was no harm in trying.

I took her into the changing rooms.

And the world tilted on its axis.

She fit. Not only did she fit, she looked good. Hell, I looked good! I nearly wept.

A whole new world had suddenly opened up to me. I could shop where skinny girls shopped. I could go into shops and try on things and decide whether to buy them based on the cut or the colour or the fabric rather than the fact that they didn't fit.

Suddenly, I have a choice.

I don't have to buy things because that's all there is for girls my size. I don't have to feel disappointed because of the lack of choice. I don't have to settle for something any more.

I don't have to settle for ANYTHING any more.

And I'm going to look hot!

(And yes, I've done more credit card damage buying TWO outfits for the Spring Racing Carnival. So if you'd like to keep me out of the poor-house, there's still lots of lovely things available in my wardrobe clear-out. Please help, how else can I afford a hat for this thing?)