(cue dream sequence)
So earlier this week while back in Tampa I ran by the Target [sounds like tar-zhay] to just double check... stuff. I don't know it was a shop-y weekend (aren't they all?), don't judge. Anyway, I was cruising past the clearance section when I saw a water proof jacket that was around 60 percent off. It said size 4 and was cheap so, with a looming trip to London, and the CONSTANT, PERSISTENT, UNWAVERING reminders that its wet, miserable, cold, damp, full of dragons, will take my first born, et cetera et cetera I figured it best I get something
Size 4 does not always mean size 4
I throw on this tomato red jacket only to be swallowed by it. For about 30 seconds I was elated that a size 4 was big, but in the next instant I realized it was so big I was either shrinking (literally) or they stitched on the wrong label and thats why it's in clearance. Eventually I see a rack of these jackets, still in clearance, so I go and, sure enough, find a size 2 and put on.
Oh come on.
Again I'm swallowed up. Imagine 'The Blob' but clothing. Even in the size 2 the arms are wide enough to pack full with, I don't know, cotton balls, a Christmas ham, and I could EASILY smuggle no less than 3 puppies per arm out of a pet shop (if you're into that sort of thing). In the desperate hope to get a stupid jacket to prevent me from melting in London (20 bucks says I L-O-V-E it there and moan for 2 months about how badly I want to move there) I put on the size 1. Then I realized that this was the most bizarre sizing system I've seen: things are either odds, evens, or European- not 1,2,3,4,5,6. Not to mention the size ONE was still big.
The universe, obviously done with it's mean joke, urged me to turn around. Behind me I see that although yes, I am in fact in the clearance section, I am in the WOMAN'S section- aka plus size. The handy sizing chart behind me indicates that, no shit Sherlock,the size 4 was big because size 4 in the plus department is roughly sizes 18-20. (my size 1, which I bought because it was cheap, fits sizes 12-14. fyi)
And that's what it's like to be me for an hour.
Now if you'll excuse me I have to go outside. The lawn guy with the weed-whacker (because that piece of lawn equipment isn't annoying enough on it's own) is singing... something... and between him and the whacking I just cant sit here any more.