Old Blog 15: 02/16/05 -- The Heartbreak of Psoriasis

I remember a commercial a long time ago that used that phrase. No recollection what product the commercial was for -- I just remember thinking it was a stupid way to describe skin eruptions.

However, I think it's a great title for describing a day shopping for clothing when the winter potbelly hasn't been exercised off, and when one doesn't want to go to a nice store and drop $300 on an outfit that one expects will be too big in a couple months. Yes. Heartbreak. Eruptions. Itching and wanting to murder whoever is responsible for fashion trends.

Yes, the wedding I'm supposed to read at is only two days away, and I would have shopped for a decent outfit sooner, but who knew that the ass would rip out of my beloved and luxurious lavender three piece suit last Sunday? Not the seam. The material. It just ripped when I accidentally sat on the edge of the songbook in the pew at church. It wasn't too tight, it was just -- the end of the road for a suit that has been my mainstay for years. Dammit.

So off I went today, just hoping for some dumb conservative old woman clothes that I could throw on and not be a scandal to the bride and her mother.

My first question is this: in a country with a population as fat as America, why does a store carry a whole rack of size 4 and 6, but no more than a couple size 12? Have you ever met anyone who was a size 4? (Oh, shut up.) Since the store didn't have any dumb conservative old woman clothes (at least nothing that wasn't fucking ugly capri pants length, which are the ugliest, least attractive cut since BillyBob's BibAlls) I looked at the business clothes section, and found a pair of nice gray slacks. In a size twelve.

Sweating like a pig in the over-heated store, I pulled on the slacks, noting that the waist fit better than I thought it would, and looked in the mirror of the fitting room. Gahhhh! The front of the pants looked like someone had stolen the material from the hips. I turned, and my ass looked like someone had played a joke on me, perhaps by eliminating a lot of fabric -- from the hip area. Maybe someone thought that making the waist big and the hipline tight would be really funny. But it wasn't, not with the clock ticking and my patience and aplomb rapidly disappearing. I don't have a big ass. I carry all my fatties right around the bellybutton. No go, the pants looked like shit. Which lead me to my next question.

WTF would you make slacks with no @!##&! pockets? I no sooner had those pants on than I made a swoop with my hands, looking for pockets. None. Nada. Where would I tuck my car keys? My hanky? My reading glasses? Upon returning to the racks, where Bernie awaited me, trying to be supportive even though every other word I uttered began with the letter F, I discovered that NONE of the women's slacks had pockets. Or belt loops. But they were all cut a bit low ... soooo if you want to keep your pants from falling down, you have to buy them a bit small, so that they dig right into that hip and belly area -- resulting in the sausage look I see so often these days.

After pondering briefly whether or not I could sue Mervyn's of California if I suffered a stroke while shopping, I grated to Bernie, "Let's see if the men's department has any pants for short little mens."

And sure enough, they did. Elegant, well-made slacks with variable waist and length sizes. In little time, I found a pair that looked like they were meant to be worn as pants, with roomy pockets, belt loops, and a very nice shapely ass.

Question three: Why do I have to buy men's clothing in order to look like a reasonably attractive woman??????????????