No man’s land

Picture yourself, high on the knowledge that you have sloughed yet another size off your pants-area, walking into Savers with a plan and a dream. A dream of a cheap wardrobe. A cheap wardrobe that must be cheap because (you hope) you won’t be stopping at this size for long. But a fabulous wardrobe, one that will encourage you to keep going! We are going to have so much fun, Savers, you and me, old pal.

SHIRTS: They come in several forms.

1. Cute at a size 8, not so cute at a 10 or 12. Because a size 10 or 12 person is not the same shape as a size 8 person. If you were a size 8, the shirt would fit nicely–snug in the right spots, just barely skimming the wrong spots. When you are a size 10 or 12, it is snug in the right spots and SNUG in the wrong spots. It draws giant arrows pointing to the parts of your body you are dissatisfied with and says, “LOOK HERE, EVERYBODY! I’D SAY IT’S ABOUT TEN POUNDS!”

2. Cute at size 14 and up, does not exist at size 10 or 12. I love Lane Bryant. LOVE that store. Their clothing says, “I am maybe a little hefty, but I am still a woman and want to look beautiful and feminine.” But sizes 10 and 12 are not allowed into that little club.

3. Cut right for size 10 or 12, but not cute at all in any size whatsoever. This shirt says, “I GIVE UP ON EVER LOOKING LIKE A WOMAN AGAIN.”

4. Flimsy jersey knit, the bane of my existence, and the fabric every single manufacturer in the world is CRAZY over these last couple of years. I cannot find clothing that is not jersey knit. It simply does not exist. I mean, yeah, it’s soft and comfortable, but it magnifies every single roll. That little baby pouch that you’re still carrying around? At the part where it touches your shirt, it looks like Mount Everest. It is the most unforgiving fabric, and it is everywhere. Unless I want to dress head to toe in business casual every single day. Which I don’t. I really hate ironing.

I hate you, Savers. I hate you and your stupid clothing.

PANTS:

You all know how I feel about pants, so I won’t reiterate here.

HOWEVER! I will tell you all about bras. You’re welcome. I am one of the strangest sizes ever. I don’t know what is happening up on my ribcage, but it’s something weird. I think it’s my odd barrel chest. Great for athletics, not so great for, oh, looking like a woman.

But do you know who is magical? The little old lady at Dillard’s who spent an hour helping me find a bra. Three, in fact. That woman got me to buy three bras when I was only going to buy one. And they FIT! And it is glorious! And? And! They make me look at least five pounds lighter. Glory hallelujah.

I’ve been putting off finding properly-fitting bras for a long time. First, nursing did a crazy number on me, and then I was pregnant again, and then I was nursing again, and then I started losing weight, and bras in my size cost far too much money to spend on a transient size, you know? But it was time. Oh, it was time. And I walked out of Dillard’s with much lighter pockets and fewer backaches. Well worth the money.

Her name is Lora, that lady, and she is like Harry Potter, except with undergarments.

OD likes to mess with the friends settings on some of my entries. OD also likes to kick people off my friends list. Please tell me if you think that has happened to you.

follow MrsJWine at http://twitter.com
I wrote some things. Please to check them out.
Baby! (Favorites only now)
People I Talk About
If you ever want to email me, send it to [my name on OD] at opendiary dot com.