If It Doesn't Fit, You Mustn't Quit

Single Sentence Scenario Suggestions 1
*Here's something else from the current bbwchan thread. I wanted to get some audience participation and do some warmup sketches. What I asked for was "a sentence describing an action for me to illustrate/ elaborate on. No existing characters please!" Of course I got a bunch of sentence fragments instead! *NOTE: THIS WAS FROM MONTHS AGO AND I'M NOT LOOKING FOR FURTHER SUGGESTIONS*

"Plump girl in store struggling to get small clothes to fit."

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The term fitting room was usually a cruel joke. In a regular store, not only was there a total lack of clothing big enough for Bridgette to wear, the fitting rooms themselves were too small to squeeze into. She shuddered at the thought of being wedged into one of those claustrophobia inducing pens. Here at Lydia's Plus Size Fashions, that wasn't a concern. The changing rooms were large and so were the slacks and sweaters, shirts, skirts, and shorts.

Bridgette sorted the clothing she planned on buying into one pile on the bench, next to another heap of things that didn't quite fit. Worryingly, this second pile was significantly larger. The dress was too tight across the middle and too loose in the bust. That was the problem with a lot of the plus size clothing in Location City. Stores assumed that you had the honking monster tits the area was known for.

Bridgette took an appraising look in the mirror. Her head-sized breasts were no joke, but seen in the context of the rest of her body, they were positively petite. She did a half-turn, gripping the puffy spare tire of fat swaddling her middle. It was heavier than when she came her last. Her ass stuck out further. Her thighs were wider. Hell- even her upper arms were jigglier. The pile of clothes that fit was just going to be smaller on her next visit. If she kept gaining weight at this pace, she wouldn't be able to find any cute new things to wear.

God- that was a depressing thought. It made her want to go through her discard pile again to see if she made any mistakes. Bridgette took out a belt and frowned at it. Her brain knew it wasn't going to go around her expansive waist (it hadn't the first time), but her heart forced her to try. Leather threaded under the overhang of her love handles, pinched as she pulled it taut, arms straining to make her hands meet in the center. Bridgette gave out a discreet little grunt of effort. But it wasn't close. All her hands met with was more belly; more soft, squishy fat. When she felt beads of sweat appear on her forehead she knew the fight was lost.

She dropped the ends of the belt but it didn't fall to the ground. It was wedged under a roll. The image in the mirror was so ridiculous she had to cry or laugh. Bridgette laughed. Fuck it. So she was fat and getting fatter. Even if the next time she visited Lydia's there wasn't as many clothes that fit her, the dressing rooms were plenty big enough. And maybe she could talk Lydia into expanding her line.