S/M/L

The saleswoman could glare at me all she wants. She was an angry S. They didn’t have my size, I checked. I wasn’t some lunatic pawing through all the sweaters like I was going to find lost treasure or my next meal. I just wanted an M. I used to be an S but now I was an M. And the done-up hanger with the whole coordinated ensemble was all Ms. I removed the sweater carefully and draped it over my shoulders. I used to be an S, but not the angry sort. The impatient sort, maybe. But I was hungrier. I wanted things desperately and that desperation was calorie reducing, or visa-versa. The saleswoman wasn’t so much of a saleswoman as a sales girl. I could have given birth to her, and I don’t just mean because I’m a size M, maybe a size L when it came to the skirts and dresses. I didn’t try on any of those, though. I bought a baggie sweater and a necklace and went home cranky. I still ate too much for dinner. Later, after I showered, I realized I never took the sweater out of my bag. That’s not like me. Usually, I lay out my new purchases on the bed and try everything on at once. I guess I wasn’t wild about the sweater. It’s hard to be wild about anything M when all you can think about is how much happier you think you were when you were an S.

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2 responses to “S/M/L

  1. Oh jeez, I remember being an S too, and now I’m an M. When I have to buy an L I try to tell myself it’s looks better baggy, or that it’s the manufacturer’s fault they made the M so much like the S.

  2. wow, must be hard being a girl.

    nice piece.

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