I walked in for my noon appointment in jeans I’d thrown on at 6:30am and a tank top and light pullover sweatshirt I slept in the night before.
A mom version of the walk of shame except now it is around town and not across campus carrying shoes.
She only had 4 of the 8 bridesmaid dresses I had seen online and I exhaled a sigh of relief when she told me the sample dresses were three sizes larger than my size. Because, let’s be honest, my body isn’t the temple it used to be and the humiliation of not fitting into sample dresses is not what my lack luster self-esteem needed. The buffer of a few sizes up was a relief and a silver lining in my day.
Laying my eyes upon two of the four selections, I rolled my eyes and uttered “nope… not gonna work… what’s next please.” She passed the third dress my direction and motioned to the dressing room with a smile.
The zipper would go no farther.
I walked out in disbelief uttering that I didn’t think I could fit in the dress.
“Oh, I’ve got this!” She announced. Proudly telling me she was a magician with zippers.
Well… Poof! In a flash she had me IN that dress.
As I began to feel my kidneys scream and circulation cut off to my lower extremities, I turned toward the mirror and gasped.
“Holy Hell! Oh NOOO! This is NOT going to work. It’s not gonna happen. Oh MY GOD. I look like a stuffed sausage with a skirt on! Unzip me please.” I hung my head in shame as she unzipped the dress and blood began to circulate around my kidneys again.
Holding my strapless sausage casing up, I walked head hung in shame toward the dressing room. With confidence and confusion I just came out with it.
“These dresses run really small. I mean I know I’ve had three kids and I’m not in the best shape right now, but really… I walked in here wearing size 4 jeans. My middle is soft and resembles a muffin top most days, but really… these dresses must run small. This is insane. This can’t be right. They run small. Right?”
She walked around from behind the rack and looked at me as I stood holding my sausage casing dress and small shreds of my dignity.
“I don’t think the dress sizes are different.” She said with a smile. “I think your body is just getting bigger. Just be happy you could get the zipper up. Most girls can’t.”
I looked her square in the face with zero expression and turned around. “That’s because they’re designed for a Barbie Doll.” I muttered as I closed the drape to the dressing room.
Happy Hump Day.
My thought when I see the majority of the skin and bones type is “eat a sandwich.” Give me a woman over a waif any day. (NOTE: the only exception to my skinny girl aversion is Keira Knightly)
Great stuff, as always Jen.
Thank you Sean!
You crack me up, Jen….and I would be thrilled to wear size 4 jeans!! sample size dresses are made to either fit those 80-lb models, and/ or to look good and small hanging on the hanger.
Plus…the woman waiting on you should be shot at sunrise for her stupid remark. I’ll bet she was probably a size 16 !!!!
These people need to take a course in people skills. At least my Derm Doc, who is probably 35, was nice enough yesterday not to say the spot on my leg was because I was OLD…..instead he called it a ‘mature’ spot. I laughed and gave him a bad time.
Glad I could make you laugh… I guess I am laughing too. For the record, she was super tall and a toothpick. Oh well…
You put that head up! You look good and have 3 beautiful kids who helped shape you! Barbie’s aren’t real!!!
Happy Birthday a day early:)
Thanks all around!