Saturday, 24 March 2012

A Shopping Revolt.

Feeling Spring in the air and willing to spend the last of the month's budget on myself rather than food I head for the shops whilst M is at play school. I only have two hours, 'tis a marathon shopping session. I visit six different outlets intent on spoiling myself and return, with my handbag between my legs, wielding one item. A t-shirt. For my daughter. Granted it is pretty cute (River Island new girls range from age 3 years), none the less, it won't fit me and is yet another item of clothing for the toddler.

I tried, I really did - six shops in two hours including some changing rooms sessions and a few shoes here and there, is no small feat. So, why just one measly t-shirt then?

To set the scene, here'e roughly what I look like: I am 5'10. Granted taller than average, but my no means a 6-footer. I do not have swishy hair, I do have sizeable hips, my thighs rub together, my breasts hang by my knees when unsupported, my waist is kind of there but right underneath it is a belly reminiscent of being pregnant and enjoying that fish supper a little too much, my arms wave alongside with my hands and I pack a serious amount of junk in my trunk. Don't misunderstand, I am not down on this, I have body dysmorphia in reverse and like to channel Marilyn Monroe when looking in the mirror. My chant goes a little bit like this: "Loving your work girlfriend, looking pretty fine out there, work it, work it..." (yes, I refer to myself as "girlfriend" when looking in the mirror and apparently the voice in my head sounds like a 18-year Gok Wan). In short, a few inches taller than average, but generally just a normal woman, looking for normal clothes...

Firstly, two of my favourite go-to-shops for the tall range no longer stock them. Only available online. Apparently I am just on the wrong side of normal in the leg department and am not worthy of trying things on in-store. However, the petite department is alive and kicking. Complete with inspirational slogan "petite: the perfect proportion". Really?! I would wager a pair of shoes that a lot of petite women bemoan their fate as much as everyone else.

Secondly, jeans. Mostly available in skinny, super-skinny and jeggings. Or bootcut, that sit on your hips and push up your belly rendering even your spanx useless. Or chinos, that have that bulky gathered bit at the front that makes me think I should have a penis to really do them justice. And mostly available in pastel colours, the type that show up all your bumps and grinds, the very ones that make you run for the "in black only please" department.

Then the tops, tunics?! Not being pregnant anymore there is really nothing more to say on this subject. I wore them to death and cannot face them again. As for the "long at the back short at the front" variety of jumper, cutting a straight line right across my thighs is never going to do it for Marilyn. Floaty chiffon types? I am not in a movie singing my way across a field of flowers and don't want to dress like I am either. Pastel colours? Makes me look unwell. An array of stripes in all directions? Makes me look like a barbers pole. Little animals all over? Makes me look like a zoo-keeper. I don't want Rihanna on my t-shirt and I don't want to tie my shirt under my boobs either.

I am doomed. Forever destined to single, bold colours, basic tee's and hanging on to my last two pairs of jeans till the bitter, ripped end.

This leave bags, shoes and scarves... oh, and the children's department!

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