A Christmas miracle of Biblical proportions...

Good morning!

I'm up early on Sundays typically, but not usually dressed and ready for everything this early.  I couldn't sleep.  Last night was one of those nights I lay in bed and just mentally counted how many more minutes I had to stay in bed before I could get up.  I haven't done that since I was nine.

While getting dressed I realized I couldn't sleep because I had something I needed to share.  Yes, once again, Sarah went out and about and something ridiculous happened and since I didn't share it with you right away, I lost sleep over it.  See how I suffer for my art?  :)

Anyway, here's what happened:

I'm done Christmas shopping.  Yes, this year I' completed the task yesterday, purchasing the very last Christmas gift.  Everyone one my list now has SOMETHING.  In celebration, Hubby and I headed to Kohl's because 1)  We had a 30% coupon and 2)  I wanted to see if I could get some new black pants since the ones I wear for work are looking a bit tatty.  (And, if you read my last blog, the zipper is somewhat suspect.)

Go ahead...buy office casual
trousers for this body type without
weeping.  See if you can.

Feeling optimistic, I spent way too much time in the skinny girl department looking for those same magical pants I found last summer that fit and don't have that embarrassing W after the size number.  No luck.  In fact, the only pants I found in the entire store that would fit me had the W and the bigger number.  I was crushed, but I'm tired of feeling like a pillow tied in the middle with twine.  Most of my pants fit me just fine except in the waist.  Yep, I've become one of those fluffy women whose gut is growing instead of the butt. No, I can't get all curvy like some fluffy girls...I have to get very round like the Staypuft Marshmallow guy.

Anyway, defeated, I dragged myself around the fluffy girl department looking for a top on the clearance rack to cheer myself up.  (I'd just cleared out two bags' worth of clothing for Goodwill, so I figured one top was okay.)

While searching a woman came up to me.  That's not abnormal.  I guess I just have that face that tells people yes, I work in this department, store, shoe warehouse, grocery and yes,  I can answer any questions you have, get things off the high shelf, recommend a good fitting boot.  She was tall, skinny, had perfect hair and wore a very nice set of boots, the kind I can't wear because tall boot makers seem to feel that no matter what your shoe size, your calf size is always going to be "willowy."

"Excuse me," says she of the beautiful skinny boots, "but is XL and 1X the same thing?"

Honey if XL and 1X were the same thing I wouldn't be standing in this cramped corner of Kohl's, I'd be frolicking in the acres of clothing on the other side of the store.

I didn't say that.

"No," says I, "XL is smaller than 1X."  

"Oh, really?"

Skinny girl wanders into fluffy girl territory and pushes the point that fluffy girl clothes are bigger than skinny girl clothes and skinny girl thinks she's going to leave the department with both her eyes not scratched out?

"Yes, really.  See,"  I suck in every inch of my temper, "I'm a 1X, sometimes a 2x.  But XL and XXL always wind up being too tight or too short."

Skinny girl stares in the sweater in her hands.  Clearly she's trying to buy something for that one fluffy friend she and her skinny friends all have, but a trek into the fluffy department might as well have been a trip to the interior of China.  "Okay..." she says.  "Thanks."

Skinny girl walked away not knowing just how must restraint that conversation took out of me.  She'll have no idea how much internal tongue biting I had to do to keep from yelling something about the inequity of clothing makers' offerings to the fluffy and the completely random way they make pants and tops so that it crushes a fluffy girl's heart every time they have to buy pants because suddenly the pants have gotten smaller.  (And NO, I haven't gained weight since the last time I bought pants.)

Now I know how David felt in Biblical times when he could have killed King Saul but didn't. It's a good feeling, this ability to restrain myself from howling at random people.

Not sure it'll happen often.  So let's just call this our Christmas miracle.