This is why I don’t shop for clothes. You know? It’s a real downer.
But I am sorely lacking in nice-casual attire. My standard uniform is jeans. If I want to dress up I wear black jeans.
So I went shopping. Actual shopping for a change as opposed to virtual shopping.
Oh shopping, I hate you so...
I stopped in one department store. I picked out a bunch of shirts and slacks in my size and the sales clerk put them in a dressing room for me.
Dressing rooms are like the dentist - torture.
I have this rule: Never look in the mirror until you are completely garbed because if there’s one thing almost as demeaning and disturbing and distressing as seeing yourself in a swim suit, it’s seeing yourself in your underwear.
Speaks for itself…
So I put on these skinny dark brown slacks- my size, and I thought, oh cool, they fit. And I put on a cute pale yellow top and I thought, oh cool, it fits, and I turned around expecting to see, well, you know, a reasonably-sized human being, and I was like… Dear God in heaven. The horror! Either I’ve stepped into a fun house, or since I last had a photo taken (1 month ago) I’ve morphed into a whale shark. Or maybe one of those overweight zoo elephants who’s been put on an elephant diet. Or maybe even a blimp.
I should go here: Elephant ‘fat farm’ plans to open in Northern California
I mean, it was so bad if my children ran into another whale shark, she’d be like… “Yo’ mama so fat…”
A very trim whale shark.
And the sales clerk was hovering outside the door trying to be all helpful. She must have heard me shriek because she asked, “Can I bring you a different size, Julia?”
I’m like, “No, you can bring me a liposuction machine, stat.” Or maybe a different body.
This body. Can you believe she’s 60?
I swear every single pair of pants I tried on, regardless of style, made each of my legs look like a giant sequoia, but short, as in real short. I’m 5’6″. My legs looked about two feet long. Holy smokes. Are my legs really that short?
Only way shorter.
I was a wreck by the time I left the store. A wreck, I tells ya. I was ready to insist my husband divorce me and find himself an actual woman, as opposed to a whale shark walking around on two tree trunks. You know, like one of those walking catfish- I can barely move on land.
Yup, there’s my house!
I rushed into the next store, grabbed a bunch of crap in my size, threw it at the cashier and brought it home.
I did find some cute stuff once I got home. And I’m wearing one of the outfits tonight. But seriously, what is up with department store dressing room mirrors? Is there anything in the universe less flattering to the female form?
Anything? Anybody?
