3 Facts for the Day

19 02 2013

1. Men cannot, nor will they ever understand, the dilemma that is trying on women’s clothing. I grab two pair of jeans in Old Navy. First off, they’re both skinny jeans. That is apparently the only type of jean sold anymore. Old Navy had 15 different names for them, but they were all skinny jeans. Sadly, skinny jeans look best on the body type that matches the jeans name. Ok. Fine. I surrender to the skinny jean fad. I grab two pair. They’re the same size, just different trendy names. One is called “Diva”; the other “Rockstar”! Wow. The names just make you feel sassy. I strut to the dressing room already feeling like a Rockstar Diva.
2. I enter the dressing room with my pants and a few cute shirts to try as well. I’m immediately shocked that there’s a strange, pale woman with fried hair already in the stall. I almost cry out in terror, recalling all the murder mystery shows I’ve seen on Investigation Discovery. Will I be the next victim?! No. It’s not a mad woman. It’s my flattering reflection courtesy of those fabulous fluorescent lights they put in there. You mean I have to undress under these?! I feel like I’m on stage and the play is a re-enactment of one of those naked dreams you have. Just as I’m ready to take the plunge and disrobe, I hear Chloe knocking on the door to let her in. Her Father is out there, but apparently Moms are not meant to have private moments, ever. Now I can have a witness to the debacle that is trying on clothes.
3. I get past the fact of how I think I look in that circus mirror. I even get past the fact that my breasts are so full of milk at this point, that I look like some bad porno. I put on the first pair. I’m delighted that they fit perfectly, if you overlook the excess skin still around my tummy that’s pouring over the edge. I tell myself that the right shirt could make it work. But they’re white. I remind myself of cookie hands and sitting on discarded fruit snacks. So I move on to the next pair. They’re a beautiful blue and the same size as the other pair. As soon as they go over my feet, I realize something is terribly wrong. I look at the tag thinking I grabbed the wrong size. Nope. Now I’m determined! So I insist on putting what feels like a pair of Chloe’s pants over my generous hips. I give up when I can’t even close the buttons. To be honest they weren’t even in the same zip code. Dang. Now I gotta pull them off. Glad Chloe was there. I held myself up by resting my hand on her head and leaned against the wall while I ripped the second skin off. If I had scissors, I probably would have used them. Skinny jeans I loathe you. Yes, men will never understand what we put ourselves through.
That is all 🙂

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