I think I've mentioned before how one of my bosses/The Dude's aunt enjoys buying my affections. Yesterday she sent me to her favorite boutique store once again. Apparently she felt I needed some new slacks. My holey jeans are not cutting it in her book.
I role up to the shop and all 3 parking spots are filled with Cadillacs. What the hell man? So I circled the block about ten times before deciding to just park as close as possible and walk. I need the exercise, right?!
I opened the door to the shop and inhale the distinct fruity-musky scent of the boutique. I'm greeted with a "Hey girl!" from some invisible person. Fifi called ahead. They already had my dressing room filled and waiting. Another salesgirl was trying to assist some eccentric old bird who was going on and on about her brand new Electric Blue Cadillac convertible.
"I'll be right outside!!!" Chirped my helper. I stripped down and started to pull the first piece of clothing off the hanger. Could. Not. Get. The. Damned. Thing. On. I struggle to get it off so I can see what the tag says.
"Are you alright in there? Do you need any help?"
I started hyperventilating. What the crap?! I thought I was losing weight. Somehow I've now jumped UP in pant sizes??
"Ummm, no I'm fine. Don't come in!!"
Cuz that's exactly what I need: skinny-minny to swing the door open and see me in all my glory.
I sat down on the pretty, yet ridiculously uncomfortable chair in the dressing room and just glaze over as I stared at the tag. A fourteen?! I was about to start crying when the door opened, just a tad, and another handful of clothes were shoved in.
"Here, try these. They'll look fabulous on you!"
I squeaked out, "No thanks, I'm just gonna go."
"Don't be silly! Try these on!!"
I pulled the next pair off the hanger and slipped them on.
I figured they had to be a size 16 or bigger cuz they were just floating on me.
The pants fell to the floor as I unbuttoned them. I stepped out and checked the size...size 10.
What the hell? Seriously? Are they just messing with me?? By "we" I mean the fashion industry in general. Why can't we just have an industry standard like back in the day? I don't care if it's bigger or smaller, just a standard number, mmm-kay?!I take that back. I don't want to go back so far that my size is just "chubby."
I don't need a heart attack every time I go into a dressing room. Yeah, yeah, I know, it's only the number, but it's a big deal to anyone that has ever battled the bulge.
P.S. I bought the size 10 pants. I am happily floating in them right now.