Remember the size 4 skirt that I slithered into the other day?
Since size 8s are now voluminous and 6s roomy (don't hate me), I was forced to go back into the archives of my closet for smaller sizes. You're probably wondering why I even bother to store these ancient relics. But the quality of the fabric and cut of this classic skirt were too exquisite to toss into the Goodwill pile.
I was delighted when I slid into the skirt, and the zipper effortlessly reached its apex. And even more delighted when I glanced in the mirror and saw no "muffin tops" protruding over the waistband.
But when it came time to take the skirt off, the zipper wouldn't budge. I tried gentle prodding. I tried forceful tugging. I tried soap. When George came home, I taunted, "You have to get this skirt off of me." He tried to rip it off with a pair of needle-nose pliers, but the mission failed. I refused to let him attack with a pair of scissors.
I had no choice: I slept in the skirt with a plan to visit my dry cleaners/tailors the next day for assistance. But I didn't have time to do that before my early morning appointment at CoH.
I waltzed into the CoH looking more glam than usual with my unrumpled, wool-crepe pencil skirt, a black cowl-collared top recently purchased from Banana Republic and a pair of high-heeled pumps.
When someone pressed me about why I was so "dressed up," I skirted the issue and mumbled something about an imaginary meeting with an imaginary client.
On the way back from CoH, I stopped in at our dry cleaners/tailors, a small shop run by three generations of the same family. The youngest family member, who looks to be around 20 years old, greeted me. I explained my predicament. He translated my predicament from English to Armenian to his grandfather/tailor. Grandpa immediately expressed concern about what I would wear out of the shop. I assured him that I'd hold on to the skirt, make a mad dash to my car and then head straight home.
Grandpa attacked my stubborn zipper with the same type of needle-nose pliers that George had used the night before. But he, apparently, had more experience in helping women get out of their skirts. After five minutes of wrangling, I was free of the oppressive garment.
Then the grandson just had to ask, "So, when did you discover the zipper was stuck?" I confessed the whole story about sleeping in the skirt.
"But, hey, this is a dry cleaners. You must hear all kinds of embarrassing stories," I teased.
"Yes," the grandson replied. "And we will now officially add you to our wall of shame."
10 comments:
That is hilarious.
And prophetic. The universe is telling you that size 4 is not your destiny because your weight will get back to a healthy level.
So go in peace and eat gelato.
Ya' know, even when I was a size 4 many moons ago, I knew that it wasn't the right size for a 5' 10" woman.
And my body fat index was so low that my infertility doctor put me on a weight-gaining diet. But then, as now, the idea of purposely trying to gain weight is repulsive to me.
Conclusion: I'm vain and neurotic. Neurotic about losing weight too quickly and equally neurotic about gaining it back.
First, If you want to send me the skirt, I will put a new zipper in for you. Second, maybe the "catwalk" figure is just a little compensation perk for the horror of dealing with illness. I'm with Paula, enjoy a gelatto, indulge in all the stuff you wouldn't allow yourself to indulge in normally! In fact, maybe I will have a donut in your honor!!!!
What a story - you have to put that in your one-woman act. It could only happen to someone with your amazing personality characteristics. I for one would have cut it to shreds to get out.
that story gave me the first smile I've emitted today.
Lisa, thanks for your generous offer. I feel a little obligated to bring the skirt back to the tailor who ripped it off me. : )
Barbara, I'm trying to stick to the "one crazy thing a day" motto we established more than 25 years ago!
Lucy, you've got some splianin' to do! i'm glad it was a skirt and not a zippered top! LOL I love you...banana gelatto dreams, Suze please enjoy some for me!
This is laugh-out-loud hilarious! You slept in the skirt! I love this story. Now you have to do a show, or at least a reading.
Fingers crossed, toes crossed, sign of the cross -- I'm working it all for tomorrow's harvest session!
Do you remember years ago, when our girls were still small, you were wearing Ann Taylor skirt that still had the price tag in it, months after you'd begun wearing it? I hope the pencil skirt no longer had its tag!
Mrs. Duck
OMG! I forgot about the AT skirt incident. I do have a plausible reason for keeping that tag. I just had to explain it to the security guards!
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