For most women, shopping is a joyful event. Even other-worldly. I have listened to countless stories of friends and relatives planning actual shopping days and weekends, going on these sprees and then coming home with a bounty of newness.

Shopping for me is…in a word – maddening.

Throughout my teens and early 20s, I worked at a number of stores such as the Gap, Strawbridge & Clothier and Clover (that should give you some hint that I am in my “mid-life” as the ubiquitous “they” refer to it). Shopping has always been utilitarian for me – even with a sizeable employee discount. If I needed jeans, I would by them. If I needed work clothes, I would buy them.

The joy that others find in shopping has always been quite the lost experience on me.

My best friend has made a career of shopping. Well, she doesn’t actually get paid for doing it, but you might think she did as she excels at it. She shops online, in stores, by phone, from catalogs and at times, though others (yes, she has the means to have a personal shopper).

Our first time shopping together was about 10 years ago and it was disastrous. Even then, at a single-digit size, clothes simply didn’t fit me the way they fit most other women. At 5’2, “off the rack” means alterations galore. And, “petite,” which should mean quite simply – short – actually means, “don’t even think you’re getting into those clothes.”  The best friend has an eye for fashion. She looks divine in clothes. Stunning. She knows colors and themes and accessories like no one’s business. Her closet is a shrine to high heels, boots and sandals (I think I own one pair of each…maybe).

So, circa 2002 we ventured out on our first shopping expedition together. As we hit the store’s front door, she sped toward racks with great fervor and began grabbing blazers and pants and blouses – oh my. Before I knew it, there was a pile of 30 garments waiting for me to slink, slip and shimmy into. I immediately handed back the low necklines, slim cut and sleeveless anything. What remained were the basics – button-down tops, blazers, dress pants and a few silk blouses.

After 15 minutes of complete silence from behind the dressing room door, I heard “is everything OK.” I took a deep breath before opening the door. Remaining utterly silent and still, I stood there as she gushed about the colors, the fabrics the shapes, etc. She said multiple times, “you look so good.” Then she saw my face and with horror, shrieked, “oh my god, what’s wrong?”

With as much flexibility as I could muster, I squatted and flexed. The resounding ripping was deafening. She stood there with her mouth completely agape as the $600 worth of clothing that was on me was splitting from every seam. I looked like the Hulk gone wild. And in that moment, she understood…clothes shopping is sheer torture for The Husky Girl.

Size really does matter. It’s more than 10 years later and shopping has only become more ridiculous. Those comedians who call themselves fashion designers size clothing based on emaciated zombies. Size L is for Long and Lean. Size M actually means Millennials. And forget size S or XS – I haven’t worn those since the 90s (if ever). The numbers? Well, the numbers haven’t been the same in any store, at any time, for any piece of clothing – ever.untitled

I say bring back the days of clothes made for Marilyn Monroe – yes she was a size 14. A sexy husky girl.