Thursday, October 18, 2007
I detest clothes shopping. I would rather enter a grizzly den than the mall. I consider root canals and cleaning toilets more fun than trying on clothes. But my old black dress pants are literally falling apart at the seams. Wearing them to work puts me in imminent danger of exposing my nickers to the office.
So, at lunch time today I entered the HOUSE OF HORRORS. Also known as Sears. First I went to the petites department, because I am only 5'2". On a good day. I tried on 12, yes TWELVE! pairs of pants. They were all wrong, wrong, wrong. If they fit at the waist, the bum and hips ballooned loosely. If the butt and hips fit properly, the waist would not do up without divine intervention.
O.K., forget the petites section. I went to the regular section. Nothing fit. So I branched out into the rest of the mall. I tried on pants made by Tommy Hilfiger, Mexx, Jones of New York, Louben, Aritsia, and in one desperate, mad moment; Prada. Thank god those last ones didn't fit.
I left the mall in shame. A failure at shopping. And then I got mad! Hey you clothes makers: Not all women are built like Betty Boop. Or Barbie. What about those of us shaped more like, well, tree stumps with jiggly bits? Especially those of us who are looking at age 50 from the wrong side. It's bad enough we get hot flashes akin to nuclear fission. (I swear I am personally responsible for significant global warming.) Our waists will never again be 15 inches smaller than our hips. Many of us have carried babies to term in these bodies, and it shows. We like good food. And what if we don't want, or need, to lose 25 pounds? WHY CAN'T YOU MAKE US PANTS THAT FIT?
Today's dream travel destination: Tahiti. Where I could just wear a sarong every day.