I woke up this morning to see James walking around with my bra in his mouth. He was just marching it around the room, like he was so proud of it. I've never seen him so happy.
I wish I had that much confidence in my bras.
I went to buy some new under things the other day and (as always) had a slightly uncomfortable confrontation with the sales lady. I'm shocked more people don't swat and run at the sales people since they COME AT YOU WITH A TAPE MEASURE!
Her: Hi.
Me: Hi. (shit)
Her: Can I-
Me: No.
Her: I was just going to-
Me: No, thanks.
Her: Today we have a-
Me: Please don't get near me with that.
Her: I just wanted to see what size you were.
Me: I'm fine.
Her: What size are you looking for?
Me: I don't know.
Her: You don't know? Well then let me just help-
Me: Medium! I'm a medium!
Her: . . . (looking me up and down)
Me: . . . (uncomfortably shifting)
Her: Ok. "Medium".
Me: Uh, what?
Her: (walking away) Sure, you're a medium. I'm gonna go help someone else.
Me: Good.
Her: Fine.
(long silence)
Me: I am a medium!
2 comments:
Just to let you know you made juice spew out of my nose, I was laughing so hard at the title of this post.
You would have been safer with any other size but medium.
The world is made up of three sizes of women...the super petite, cute ones whose petite-cuteness begs for a good bitch slapping...the large ones who can get away with that line about being "big boned," and the huge ones who hoard buckets of Chocolatey Trader Joe's Cat Cookies in their closet because they're labeled "low in fat." (Not that I'm speaking from experience)
No one is truly a medium. Medium is just a size that the clothing industry invented to help the small girls feel like they might be grown-ups one day and keeps the rest of us on diets.
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