Size Does Matter

Perception is a funny thing.

Years ago, I worked at Sears in the women's department. Christmas there brought with it a parade of confused, desperate men who needed gifts for their wives/girlfriends/mothers.

"What size is she?" I would ask.

"Um. I don't know. About your size," they would invariably mutter, looking like they would rather be getting a root canal without Novocain than purchasing a twin set.

The day after Christmas there would then be a line out the door of women "my size" ranging from 4'11" and eighty pounds to 5' 8" and two hundred fifty pounds exchanging those twin sets.

I comforted myself with the fact that they were guys in love...or at least in panic mode.

It is worse when it is another woman. Like last week. And not once, but twice.

The first time, I had found a cute little summer shirt (on sale--yeah me!) and was wandering around looking for a top to match.

Another customer approached me and asked where I had found the skirt. After directing her to the correct rack, I found a shirt and headed for the fitting rooms. Turns out, she ended up behind me in line.

"What size is your skirt?" she asked, guessing a number a full four sizes larger.

As I turned around in shock (how big did my jeans make my butt look?) she saw the ticket displaying the size.

"Oh. I thought we were the same size," she explained, giving me a look that clearly said I was insane if I thought I could squeeze myself into that skirt.

Slipping into the skirt a few minutes later (which fit perfectly, thank you very much), I was tempted to go knock on her door and model it for her, but my ego couldn't handle her enquiring about the shirt.

The honor of insulting my chest size went, instead, to the sales clerk a few stores down.

"That's a great dress," she gushed, as I browsed through the racks. "And it's thirty percent off!"

"It looks a little small," I eyed the garment dubiously. "Do you have a larger size?"

"Well, no," she admitted reluctantly, then hastened to add, "but this should fit you. The designer made this with someone like you in mind."

I shouldn't have done it. I knew it was a mistake, and I would regret it, but I couldn't help myself.

"Someone like me?" I asked, bracing myself for the answer.

"Well, yes. You're small on top," she explained, making not so flattering gestures with her hands. "You know, like the European models."

No, actually, I was not aware that European models were flat-chested girls with large bottoms. Perhaps if the designer runs short of models, he can just use giant pears to display his clothing line. Maybe he should start marketing his line using the Queen song, "Fat-bottomed Girls". That ought to bring the customers pouring in.

But, she wasn't quite done.

"I can't wear these clothes myself, because I'm a triple D, but you are built like her," she indicated the other saleswoman, who looked as confused as I did.

Ah, yes, perception is everything.