Well, it was that time again. Time to try to find my way through the hell that is clothes shopping. You think I'm exaggerating? Dress Barn. Place of gnashing of teeth.
Dress Barn had consolidated skinny girl clothes and sturdy girl clothes. Sturdy girls would typically enter a clothing store and immediately bear right. There, we could find clothing in our size, without having to wade through skinny girls. We had sturdy girl camaraderie. We didn't make eye contact. We minded our business. But Dress Barn thought we should all get along. Guess what, Dress Barn. We don't.
Skinny girls, you know I love you, but I really don't enjoy seeing your top in the very front of the rack, compared to my sturdy girl top in the back. My shirt sticks out 3" on each side of yours, which is how I know about where to begin looking for my exact size. I also don't enjoy hearing you say to your fellow skinny girl, as you whisk a top off the front of the rack, hold it to yourself, and squeak, "omg I love this...do you think my boobs would look bigger in it?" Out of my way, muffin. I'm looking for a shirt that does the opposite. ...You're makin' me want to eat.
Why is it that skinny girls shop in numbers, anyway? Sturdy girls don't. We don't need anyone else to tell us we look good in that shirt. I know I look good in that shirt if it covers my stomachs. If I can fool you into thinking I only have one stomach, then that's the shirt for me. But I did have a friend join me today. MS! Glad it could make it, I was a little lonely.
I'm on the other side of a flare that was passing through over the past week. Stupid weather change. My flares usually end with paraesthesia and extreme hypersensitivity to touch. Like husband with close cut mustache/goatee who likes to kiss me on the top of the head or cheek as he walks by? Yeah, his facial hair feels a lot like Hellraiser's needle face against mine. I shaved my legs today. I won't tell you how painful that was. Now back to Dress Barn...
I take a plethora of shirts into the dressing room, where the mirrors add 50lbs, and begin the fun. I put the first one on and it had some sort of elastic around the sternum/thoracic area. I'm a chiropractic biller by nature, I refer to things by bodily region. Felt like an "MS Hug". OMG THIS SHIRT IS ANNOYING THE DRESS BARN OUT OF ME! OFF NOW! Try on another. PICKY! OFF NOW! Alright, this one looks safe. Stylish/pretty friend told me that shirts with ruffles up top may be good for me. Wow. That's a LOT of ruffles. Macy's called...they want their float back. OFF NOW! Here's a crinkle shirt. Stylish/pretty friend said those look good on sturdy girls. Wow. Love how it accentuates every single stomach I own, as well as one stomach I didn't even know I had! OFF NOW! Out of tops, time to reload.
Back out to store to put all those clothes back on their respective racks and get new ones to try on. I was thinking to myself, "Good Lord, I wish I could just find something that looked good on me, this is hell." All the sudden, I couldn't remember where any of them went! I stood in the middle of the racks that seemed to reproduce and multiply since I was last out there. I panicked! Sales girl asks, "are you looking for something?" I explained that I just wanted to put all these tops back, but can't remember where they go! She says I can leave them on the rack at the dressing room. Thanks, sales girl. I turn around to head back there and walk dead into the middle of a clearance rack, knocking tops on the floor and having to hold myself up from falling. Everyone turns to stare. I inform all that, "I'm good!". As I'm picking everything up, I find some really pretty tops that were casualties of my mid-rack collision! They were perfect!
See what happens when you talk to God during an innocent shopping trip? You find exactly what you want, even if He throws you straight into it! Now where's the closest ladies' room...