I debated about writing this post. After some thought it struck me that my hesitation was just another example of this silliness. Although people normally don’t talk about this sort of thing in such a public manner, I would be fooling myself to think that this part of me is in any way secret… :)
A good friend recently had surgery -- the type that depends on the use of friendly intimate apparel during recovery. On a search for something soft, supportive, and easy to put on I took her to Lady Grace, a store that specializes in “intimate apparel”.
As luck would have it, one of the store clerks on duty had had a similar surgery 5 years back. As this woman offered advice about what garments to consider, she and my friend entered into a far more necessary conversation. What was your experience like? How did you respond to the treatment? How do you feel now? Do you think I’ll be okay? …
To make more room for this discussion, I stepped back and began to browse.
Eventually, I made my way to the area where “my size” was located. I flagged down a free, petite store clerk as she walked past and asked her if a style I liked was available in “my size”.
After a quick glance in my direction, she turned around and began walking away at a fast clip. I stood there, dumbfounded. Noticing that I hadn’t moved, she called out to me over her shoulder and demanded that I follow suit. She marched me straight through the aisles, past the back of the store, and into the fitting room area.
“Knock knock!” she called out as she opened a fitting room door. I stepped in after she motioned for me to do so and was a little surprised that she walked in right behind me and shut the door.
“Knock knock!” she called out again, standing squarely in front of me.
Once again I was dumbfounded. Clearly she expected something from me, but I had no idea what that something was.
“Knock knock.” she repeated, nodding at me encouragingly. Eventually she figured out that she needed to use more words to help me understand what she wanted. I don’t think I would ever have been able to guess on my own that “knock knock” could also mean “please remove your shirt …. in front of a total stranger”.
Years ago I read that some huge percentage of women wear the wrong size. As much as I did not want this to be true for me, deep down I knew that it was. It had been years since I had last been measured. There was no way that “my size” could still be accurate since I had gained plenty of weight since then.
As disheartening as it was to hear this woman practically recite the alphabet as she figured out my “correct size”, I have to admit that I walked out of that store a little perkier.