The fitting room mirrors. The spotlights. And me.

Cue "Jaws" music.  I am going to speak again about fitting rooms in retail stores.  Obviously they were either designed by men, or by perfectly built women.  Neither of these make up the total demographic of SA. 

When stepping into the fitting room, you are immediately assaulted by a 3D full-length mirror image of yourself.  This is heightened by the 6 x 100w globe lights shining on you .... It is so sudden and so bright one half expects a border patrol guy with sniffer dogs to come in. Now you have to begin the balancing act .... getting all your items onto the hook, putting your "number" in an obvious place, putting down your bag and shoes and trying then to not continuously hit your elbows as you turn around.  

This is the point of truth for most of us.  As I stand up from stripping down to my underwear, a large shadow looms up behind me, scaring the living daylights out of me.   I am only vaguely calmed down by the fact that I discover that this shadow is my butt.  Now before trying on anything one gets to glimpse yourself in all your wobbling glory.  It is not an encouraging sight.  Then begins the real bit ...... I put on outfit A ..... It is the size that I am sure I am.  This is never a realistic estimation.  The pants are screaming as they drag themselves bravely over my thighs.  They are what is known as low crotch, which means that in my case the waistband is just above my nether regions and the zip is somewhere between there and my upper thighs.  Traumatised I continue.  Several up sizes later I come to the definite conclusion that low crotch is not for me. 

I move to dresses.  Now if these could be designed with one size on top and another on the bottom I will be A for Away.  I decide to go with my top size.  It looks great from waistband up, but below the waistband ...... let us just say that short and tight is not my thing.  So I swop the calculation around.  It is now perfectly fitting waist down and on top I am drowing in additional fabric with the crossover top section leaving my bust leaning a bit towards "Debbie does Dallas" .... and I am not referring to a Kontiki tour. 

I am down to my underwear again.  Completely rattled now I lean out and ask the fitting room attendant if she could order me a double shot Cappuccino from Woolies Cafe' so that I have something to knock back my rescue remedy with. 

When I leave the room I hand back the number to the attendant and tell her that I love all the items and am taking them all.  I ditch them on the first open rail I find in the store. 

I bought shoes.  My size is my size.  Always.  They look great.  I feel great.  And the mirror which you use to view them ...... it's usually from the ankle down. 

I want to say Fat and Fabulous.  Pffffft.  

till next time, 
c'est la vie