You're A Size 0??!!

I was recently reminded why I hated dresses. Why long after my tomboy years had passed, I looked but never wore, whether it was in my cupboard or a show window. They never fit. I somewhat jokingly set out to find a dress yesterday. Not because it was my choice but because the upcoming occasion absolutely demanded you wear the one piecers.

I stepped into the first store. “To fit you? Oh no sweetheart” I left. I was smiling now. I tugged on the sliding door of the next store and politely recited my specifics, (Unlike Serian Stores the employees of these types of “boutiques” are often courteous and sometimes even condescending in their mannerisms). “You a size 1?” the all knowing saleslady cooed in reply. “Nope.” I proclaimed proudly, straightening a bit. “Size 0.” The all knowing saleslady temporarily lost her omniscient composure. “You’re a size 0??!!”Oh how I love to horrify the masses. “and I’m going to be 20 next year”. I added with a flourish. This brought a collective murmur and one or two once-overs from the other sales clerks. The sales-lady used the opportunity to collect the parts of her mouth that had hit the floor and ensure that her eyeballs had been firmly replaced in her sockets. Once intact she assured me that dresses would be arriving soon. To save myself the trip back, I asked, almost rhetorically, if any Size 0’s would be coming. “No.” I left. How could she when she (and probably even the dressmakers) didn’t know that such as size existed?

I continued to another store. Not intending to find a dress of course, but shocking-store-lady’s-with-previously-non-existent-sizes had just peaked my list of hobbies. This ‘boutique’ seemed no different from the others, same all-knowing sales ladies (this dress would be perfect for youuuu!!) with grand smiles. I once again recited my specifics… the lady dubiously waved me to a single rack. Now don’t get me wrong. There were probably at least 20 racks in the store. My size? one rack. Shared with the size medium.

To be polite I brisked through the dresses. Too wide… too short (I’m not TWELVE for heavens sake)… too bland.. ick… too.. wait. WAIT. I hastily fervently and yet delicately removed the dress from the rack shining in all its glory. “Do you have a dressing room?” I asked stupidly… not daring to believe this beauty would fit I silently slid into the dressing room and, (after acknowledging how nice this particular dressing room was) zipped up the dress and stared and 360-ed. and stared. IT FIT! AND I LOVED IT!
I stumbled out of the dressing room clutching the dress. The price was even more music to my ears. I had found a dress. THE dress. The dress that made me love dresses again. Still grinning I left the store. And you know the sad part? It’s not in my cupboard.