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?
LOL I’m sure you’re not fat by any means. But those mirrors can be deceiving. I’m with you - I prefer jeans over everything else.
Those mirrors are windows to another dimension Julia, where aliens sit watching us crap ourselves while they eat their popcorn…
I think you just answered a question I was asking myself the other day: Why in the world are so many women shopping for clothes online?
They cannot face those mirrors.
But you know what the cure for the funhouse mirror blues is, right? Shoe shopping. Especially if you drag the kids along so you can embarrass the hell out of them by wobbling around on spikes and singing out, “Do you think your father will think these are SEXY?”
I did go shoe shopping, Jaye - right after that nightmarish experience! Bought three pairs of boots on sale. I recently read that retail therapy actually helps. Dressing room mirrors destroy my self-esteem.
AD - that’s the only explanation that makes sense. If a store wants to sell clothing, then by god install mirrors that make everyone look fabulous!
Well, Amber, the shopping experience left me feeling like a beached whale.
You are not alone. I try not to go clothes-shopping alone because I seriously cannot determine truth from lies in those mirrors.
Oh Ruth, ain’t it the truth? But I’d be too embarrassed to show myself to anyone! Not after looking into those mirrors!
Oh, stop it woman other than Ishbel you have one sexy little butt stop messing with yerself.
I can’t help it, Tom. The mirror… Ack! The mirror!
Thank you for the positive comments. I thought it was me. Now I know it is the mirrors!
Last 2 years I have spread out. I hate it. Hard to find classy clothes for women my age. Not only the mirrors, but the ugly clothes cut wrong and made to fit a 5 year old. Bah-Humbug!!!!
Oh Roberta! Don’t get me started!
I’ll trade with you…every square inch.
Anny -