Yesterday, I went shopping for the only item that is as depressing to purchase as a bathing suit: a bridesmaid dress. For some reason, I have to go two sizes up from my usual to fit in one of those shiny satin numbers, and that is just not a good feeling.
So there I am at the bridal salon, and the saleswoman informs me that they do not have the size I requested (24, ouch), but they do have a 22. I take it and try it on–and it FITS! It not only fits, but it’s LOOSE! I am celebrating and shrieking that I’ve lost weight! I’ve really done it!
And then. I request a size 20 to see if that might fit. The saleswoman responds, “Oh, we only have this 24 or an 18.”
Um, what? No. No, no, no. You said this was a 22. I’m sure of it.
I check the tag–sure enough, 24. My celebration was for naught. (Well, not entirely. It was a bit roomier than the BM dress I wore in September.)
Determined not to wear a 24 to my third wedding (not MY third wedding–you know what I mean), I ordered the 22. I have to lose one inch by May 14. Let’s do this!