When I Say Size 34, I mean 34, NOT 36!

I am leaving to speak in Ohio. I am trying to get everything into a carry-on bag to allow me more freedom to change flights along the way. (Trying to squeeze everything I need into a 9 x 14 x 22 bag reminds me of trying to squeeze my old 44" waist into a 38" pair of pants.)

In order to be expeditious, I plan out my clothing on a grid (really!). That way, I can make sure that the people who see me speak on Wednesday, won't see me wear the same thing on Thursday. It also helps me determine the minimum amount of clothing to bring. (Does one spell anal-retentive with or without a hypen?) In doing this, I realized that a plain black pair of dress pants could go a long way. Alas, I am not the owner of a plain black pair of dress pants — so off to the mall I go.

One must understand that two of the biggest anchors we had/have in our mall were Mervyn's (gone) and Gottschalks (going) so our mall is a sad and lonely shell of it's former self. However, there is a men's clothing store remaining and — in I go.

The gentleman, I presume the owner, greets me as I walk in and asks what I need.

"Black dress pants please."

He looks me up and down and escorts me to the rack of dress pants.

"What size?"

"34 x 30," I reply. I know this well. I personally call it a "32 WLD," which means "32 while lying down," but since he's a professional in the clothing business, he probably calls it a "34." I shall — in deference to being in his store — use the same language.

"No, you're a 36," he replies.

Sucking in my stomach — and feeling extremely self conscious now — I reply, "No, I'm a 34. Been a 34 for 15 years." I think to myself, "Am I putting on weight? Nah. I've dropped eight pounds in the last several months. Maybe I'm bloated. Does he think I look fat?" Oy, the horrible maelstrom of verbal cacophony blowing about in my gray matter! I don't like shopping for clothes as it is; now I'm feeling that I have to explain myself to this man.

He continues, oblivioius to the paranoia he has foisted upon my shallow, weak ego. "I wear a 34 he says," raising his arms so I can get the full view of this thinnner-than-me waistline. And as an afterthought, realizing one doesn't want to tell the only customer in the store that he's looking tubby, he adds, "these are cut really small." I think he's hoping to appease me with that.

We pull a 36 (yikes!) x 30 from the shelf. He directs me to the dressing room, where I try on the pants. Great day in Heaven, I'm practically swimming in them! A choir of angels calls to me from the clearance section, I am validated.  However, I must vindicate myself.

So, hanging on to my pants like a gen-exer holding up his too-baggy pants, I wander into the middle of the store; where the manager is now helping a family. "Excuse me," I interrupt. After all, they're buying clothes; I'm avoiding a full-scale mental setback. Which is more important? "These are too large."

He makes an excuse to the family, turns to me and tugs at my waist. "Hmm, I think they have a nice fit. They fall well. I think they look good. However, if you want something smaller, we can get that."

Turns out, he didn't have my size  (Do I sense a sales ploy?) so I wandered out of the store to Ross, where I spent half the amount — and ended up with a 34 x 30.

Suggestion to clothing sales people

Similar to the post I made last year about waiters and waitresses NOT seeing a cleaned plate and saying to the guest, "Wow! You were hungry!"  Do not ever tell a patron they are larger than they say they are. If I want to squeeze my 62" into a 38", you go right ahead and let me do it. Just clear the store for when the button pops.

New Clothing in the Closet! (with advice from Matt Lauer)

One forgets about some of the exciting things that happen after you’ve been at your (mostly) correct weight for a long time. I was reminded today.

Last week I bought a new pair of pants. OK, so that’s not so exciting. (Well, maybe it is; they were really nice dress pants at Ross for only $11.99.) However, a few weeks ago, in the USA Weekend magazine that comes with our paper, the Times-Standard,  there was an interview with Matt Lauer. It’s not that I think Matt’s such a big deal; I mean, mostly I like him. I’ve heard him ask some pretty tough questions of politicians… Hmmm…. I’m digressing.  Where was I? Oh yes, his article about cleaning up and de-cluttering as I guess he’s a pretty organized guy.  In the article, it said:

Lauer, 50,
holds to a "one in, one out" rule. "If I buy something new — a piece
of clothing, a tie, a shirt, a suit — something old has to go," he
explains. "That’s the way I avoid clutter, crammed closets and drawers.
It keeps things in balance, and it really works."

I find myself constantly fighting "clutter creep," you know, where those little spaces get filled up and then it spreads and it grows and it expands and before you know it, you’re taken over by a blob of piles of files and thousands of papers and old electronics and of course… clothes you intend "to get back into one of these days." They’re usually at the back of your closet, lonely, forgotten, forlorn (but in real good shape because you don’t wear them anymore!)

I remembered that as I was standing in line buying my $11.99 pair of nice dress pants and decided I would take his advice. When I went home, I would fight my way to the back of the closet, wrestling with 1970s bell bottoms, old platform shoes, and wide lapel coats, and actually get rid of something.

How proud I would feel!