Today, the bookstore at Fine Technical College re-opens, so I can go get all my stuff for the first day of class (which is next week...next freakin' week!) and be prepared and not get demerits or whatever they give you in culinary school when you do baaaad.
I roll up into the bookstore, which is literally no bigger than my bathroom. Granted, this is the bookstore for this one campus, which is in a big office-like building, but it would be nice to be able to turn around 360 degrees and not whack your nose on the door.
The guy behind the counter is a fine specimen, who looks he'd rather be anywhere than here. He's wearing a big silver puffy parka thing over a green mesh Celtics jersey and tank top...odd choice for the left ventricle of Dixie, but whatever...(for those of you confused by that, the state motto of Alabama is "Heart of Dixie"; since Georgia's to the left...nevermind. Sometimes, I get a bit too esoteric for my own good.)
So, we start trying to figure out what size coat and pants I need to wear. The clothes are all in US men's sizes, with a handy chart in my orientation folder to help me translate...not. Being a chesty girl, I know I need a larger size coat, but how the hell am I supposed to figure out the size, when the translation table says 2X = 50 or 52...which is it? When in doubt, go bigger I guess. So, I ask the Celtics guy if I could nip across the hall to the restroom and try it on without my sweater. He looks at me like I've grown a horn from my forehead and says "I can't do that." I'm perfectly willing to offer to leave car keys, my new blue tooth headset (gasp!) as collateral, but nope, can't do that. I figure if I can button it over my sweater, I should be able to button it without the sweater.
Same thing when we get to the pants. Every single woman on the planet that buys off the rack clothing knows that sometimes it doesn't matter what the effin' label says when it comes to actually finding a garment that fits. You might be a size 4 and in a particular pair of pants, you can wear a size 8 according to the lying damn label. Same thing goes on the other end of the spectrum. It doesn't help that sometimes I wear a 20...a 22...a 24...or a 1x or 2x pair of pants...you just go by how it fits and to hell with the number on the label.
So, I am trying to figure out which of the truly hideous pairs of pants will fit me...I opt to choose a pair that has some elastic in the waist...you can never go wrong with elastic in my book. I ask the Celtics guy if these items are returnable as long as I don't wear them or wash them or alter them, convert them to the Church of the Sub-Genius, etc. He tells me that they can be returned based on the aforementioned conditions. So, I brightly tell him that I'll just buy these, nip across the hall, try them on, and if they don't fit, I can bring them back and swap them.
He looks at me as if I have grown a second head to go with that original horn in the forehead and says, "No, you can't do that. If you try them on, they are considered used and cannot be returned." WTF??? "Used" because I tried them on? Puhlease. If that were the case, no retailer in America would ever be able to sell clothes. Fer Chrissakes, you can even try on swimwear (keep your undies on!) in most stores. Jeez...
I decide not to argue with Braniac about this, because I need the hideous pants and I need them now, because I have to try and get them hemmed for the first day of class. (You know this is not going to happen...the tailor says I can get them on Wednesday afternoon...demerits here I come!) I just hope they fit and if they don't, that I can lose some weight by Tuesday or sometime during the quarter. And, why the hell do men's pants come with enough extra length to fit a Yeti? It's a Compensation thing, I'm sure.
I pay and drag my almost $300 worth of books and ugly clothes to the car...itching to get home and try it all on. I look in the dresser mirror, and the Stay-Puf Marshmallow Girl looks back...eek...I guess it's a good thing we can't wear makeup or jewelry...don't want to call any more attention to this train wreck than is necessary.
The coat is rather thin fabric, so you can see the lovely lilac bra I'm wearing...must go get some tank t-shirts ASAP...and probably a lower slung bra. The girls are riding kinda high in the yank-em up bra, and it's giving me gapatosis. Double-breasted anything does not look good on those of us who are already double-breasted, if you know what I mean.
I feel kinda dorky in my new outfit, but kinda cool at the same time. At least I look like I might actually know which end of the knife is sharp! : )
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