Okay. I'm no Twiggy. But real women need not apply clothing in the shopping venues around Oxford Square, a town that has everything . . . almost.
Having cleared out the fat clothes within the confines of my closet and with the promise of half-off sales in tow, I set out to find a smart "little" dress which might be worn with a pair of leggings . . . which just might hide a few more pounds. Our savvy Square beckoned for a chic try.
The clothes. If you can getting a running start over your head while facing east repeating a mantra seven times you just might get the tops to clear the boobs. They were designed for a matchstick of a woman. Certainly not a woman who breastfed through her thirties, certainly not for a woman staring mid-age in the eye. After all, old hag shops are not likely to pipe out 'Lil Wayne over the store speakers.
Boy, are those clothes cute? Boy, do they make me feel ancient? Boy, do I care? Well, yes.
Where are the real women? Not around the Square. They won't fit. Size 0. Size 1. Are there really that many zipper shaped gals funding these boutiques waifing around the town?
The leggings. I didn't even bother. Doubt that those one-size-fit all jobs the "Miss Behavin'" store touts will contain legs that pedal a mountain bike through the root filled trails of Taylor. I'm not sure these ladies have ever really misbehaved. They're too young. Too little. Too perfect.
Why punish myself and further horrify the tiny store clerks with my smart-assed, or should I say large-assed comments?
Well, guess there has to be some fun to be found there other than squishing into the smallest large sizes on the planet all conveniently nestled within arm's reach of the hip "little" shops around Oxford.
Yep, it's a small town.
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