Waist-Less

Well, it's official. I now know for sure that my body is strange and weird. I always suspected it. I knew I was shaped like a cucumber, inherited from my mother who is just a slightly shorter, larger cucumber (sorry mom). I popped into Fashion Bug with Abbey to get some new jeans (for me, not her) after gymnastics (for her, not me obviously). I had heard about this supposed great new "Right Fit" technology (like is it really "technology")? There were tons and tons of these pants everywhere, it was of course a little overwhelming. Obviously, since this technology is so "new" and all, they couldn't just use the regular old technology pant sizing system and had to come up with an entirely new one. Instead of being between a 2 and a 14 for example, you are between a 1 and an 11. I checked out the guidelines and decided I would probably be a 9. Before I could start looking an associate scurried over and asked if I needed help finding my "perfect" fit. Sure. Why not. I like help whenever it is offered. She whipped out her measuring tape (gulp) and proceeded to wrap it around my waist. Her brow furrowed in confusion. She motioned for another associate to come over. They commiserated. They looked perplexed.

Associate #1. "Well, it just doesn't make any sense. Her size isn't coming up anywhere on this measure. It is saying she should be in the Plus size, but looking at her that doesn't seem right. Her legs and hips are too small, a plus would be too big. Hmmmm."

Associate #2. "You know, this happened to me one time before, last week. I had a customer who just didn't fit. It was very strange. I didn't know what to do."

At this point a third associate came over to help, they discussed my odd shape disorder and decided I should try both a 10 and an 11, in the yellow (straight) fit and the red (slightly not straight) fit, but most definitely not in the curvy blue fit (due to my complete lack of curviness).

Abbey and I were off to the dressing room with 3 people helping (this was on a Wednesday at 1 pm, not a big shopping time). I tried on jean after jean after jean, while Abbey quickly lost her patience, and her shoes and proceeded to run in and out of the dressing room floating like a butterfly and dancing around in her leotard before the many mirrors. After too many pants to count it was discovered that my perfect size was . . . . wait for it . . . a 9. Hmmmm. By this time though I had lost Abbey completely and had to go to the grocery store before Jack got home from school and didn't actually have any time to choose the color or style I wanted in my new "perfect" size. So I left. Pantless. Umm, but thanks for all your help!