Hi there! Me again.
So, tonight I’d like to talk to you about a very important subject. I’ll do my best to outline this as clearly and concisely as I possibly can.
WHAT THE ACTUAL BUGGERING FUCK ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR BASTARD CLOTHES SIZING, YOU FUCKWITTING COCKWOMBLES?
Back then, shopping was a simpler experience. Back then, one had one consistent set of measurements, and one shopped accordingly. Back then, in my late teens, I had a size 8 waist (which I never fucking appreciated, not for a moment, because I was an utter dick), a size 10 chest, and a size five hundred billion arse, because even back then, in the very throes of youth, my bottom has always been quite frankly out of control.
I would go into any retail outlet, and I would select a size ten top, a size eight dress, or a size five hundred billion pair of trousers. From Marks and Spencer to Miss Selfridge, just like Cinderella, I knew it would be the perfect fit.
That was then. But this… this is now.
Now, my waist, chest and arse size have expanded exponentially. Now that, that in itself I could kind of live with. At the very least, I could blame the ‘having birthed two children’ factor (as opposed to the reality, which is ‘having drunk too much wine and ate too much chocolate’ factor).
BUT IS IT HONESTLY TOO MUCH TO ASK TO WANT TO GO INTO MULTIPLE SHOPS AND PURCHASE THE SAME SIZE OF CLOTHING IN EACH OF THEM??????
Apparently: yes. Yes it is. Yes this is a TOTALLY unreasonable request, and how very dare I even broach the topic.
These days, my shopping experience goes something like this. Let’s imagine, for the sake of this exercise, that I’m purchasing a pair of jeans:
Marks and Spencer. Size 10. Hell, if I breathe in and offer up a silent prayer, I might even manage a size 8.
Next. Size 10, unless they’re ‘slim fit’ or ‘skinny’, in which case I’d rather have that extra slab of Dairy Milk and head straight for a size 12.
Dorothy Perkins. Size 12. I like Dorothy Perkins. You know where you are with Dorothy Perkins.
Miss Selfridge. Size 14. If you’re lucky. To be honest, you’d probably be better off with a size 16, except we don’t cater for people with actual arses.
H&M: Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha GOOD LUCK WITH THAT YOU FAT FUCKING BASTARD.
Can you see what I am getting at? It is positively unhinged, shopping these days. And it is also very definitely unfairly targeted at the fairer sex. My husband consistently displays surprise that I cannot buy clothes online. “Can you not just get some jeans off eBay?” “CAN I NOT JUST GET SOME JEANS OFF EBAY? No, no I cannot, because dependent on the retailer in question, the day of the week, and my FUCKING STAR SIGN I could be anything from a size six to a size SIXTY SIX.” Fuck my actual fucking life.
And so, please, I have a plea. Could we stop all this nonsense with vanity sizing and variable measurements and clothes that are made by PEOPLE WITH THEIR EYES CLOSED USING TAPEWORMS INSTEAD OF TAPE MEASURES? Could we please, please, for once in our lives just resort to logic? How about – and here’s a radical idea – we get people to measure around their chest, waist and bottom areas. Twenty six inch waist? Well… guess what? You buy a dress in a size twenty six inch waist. Five hundred billion inch arse? You buy a pair of jeans in a five hundred billion inch arse. You get the idea.
Anyway, I will leave this one with you. I look forward to your enthusiastic response and a commitment to transforming my retail experience for the better. In the meantime, I’m off to pen some further missives to you. My Bottom and Waist Are Not In Direct Proportion To Each Other And This Does Not Make Me A Bad Person Who Should Be Unable To Purchase Clothing That Fits, and: Your Changing Room Mirrors Should Come With Unlimited Supplies Of Gin And Antidepressants, for a start off.
Much love, IKINTST xxx