I must say, I’m lovin’ the flowy styles that are fashionable this season. I am not a wife-beater tank top kinda girl, so having material that covers my, um, problem areas, is a bonus.
I try to wear clothes that fit and are flattering. You know how you can walk through a mall and see women dressed in jeans that are waaaay too tight, muffin tops and thong underwear hanging out the back and a bowlful-o’-jelly hanging over the top? I’m not that gal.
Picture if you will: a dressing room, complete with questionable lighting and a trifold mirror, so the customer can confirm that it looks bad from the front . . . and the side . . . and indeed the back. The other night, I carried in an armful of clothing items - because I am a rebel and I do not conform to the 6-items-or-fewer rule. When was the last time you tried on jeans, or god-forbid a swimsuit, and found one within the first 6 items that you’d be willing to purchase, take home, and stuff your parts into? It takes MANY attempts, and unless I’m going to lose 10 lbs. by making several grueling trips to and from the dressing room, I’d prefer just to take all my choices back at once, thanks.
So . . . I had a load of XL items and I began the arduous process of putting them on, criticizing my image in the mirror, and hanging them on the no-way-in-hell-I’m-buying-this hanger. (Not to be confused with the Maybe-but-only-if-I-can’t-find-anything-else hanger, or the f*ck-it-I’ll-just-buy-these-sweatpants hanger.) I found a couple cute tops, and then it happened.
I tried on this little number:
This, my friends, is what happens when a size Medium ends up on the XL hanger.
I look like the Incredible Hulk’s conservative (and much cuter) little sister. If I had worn it much longer, the buttons would have popped off and pinged all over the walls, no doubt knocking out the lights and setting off the sprinkler system.
I did NOT purchase this top.