I'm a size 4. I'm not ashamed of that. Even though I was at a party recently with my friend Julie, who commented that she doesn't have any bright colored clothes. "You can borrow this dress," I offered helpfully, not realizing that I was actually insulting her. "You're a 4, right? We look about the same?"
Julie and me, a.k.a. Size 0 and Size 4
She apologetically looked at me and said, "Oh, actually... I'm a zero-petite." I know she's in fabulous shape as she is a marathoner, but I didn't realize quite how fabulous. In trying to make me feel better, she mentioned the fact that she just tried on a double zero-petite at Banana Republic and <gasp> could not fit it! I responded with FCC-censored surprise.
Which brings me to this funny occurrence that's been happening in my house since my daughter was several months old. Claus continually, consistently confuses her clothing for mine, and vice versa. At first I thought it was a joke, then I thought it was some strategically crafted plan of his to strangely compliment me by implying my butt is small enough to rock a pair of undies meant for a three year old.
Size 4 or 4T?
I find my tee shirts in her drawer, or her panties in my drawer. He confuses our socks, and if her skirt is really long, he gets that confused too. I don't know why, because I stopped wearing mini-skirts years ago.
What is it this man thinks when he looks at female garments? "It all looks the same. Pink, girly, small," he said. That might fly, except I can now actually fit his athletic shorts and have accepted a hand-me-down from a pair that my own husband deems too small for himself. My 170 pound husband. I'm 50 pounds lighter than he is. Does that qualify me as a Pear? I have had prouder moments in body image.
I put up with these wardrobe malfunctions for years, just laughing at the mistakes. Until this week, when I found my bra tucked in her drawer. To be fair, it's a tube top, but you know, it functions like a bra.
I walked over to him with this in my hand and said, "Do you even look at the things you're putting away? What do you think this could be for Olivia?" He just laughed. A man's world is so simple for clothing choices. I think after he exhausts the basic choices of top/bottom/ undergarment, he hits saturation and just plays the odds that he's got a 50-50 chance of being right.
"From now on, how about you leave our clothing in piles for me to sift through before I put them away?" I asked.
Or maybe this object of his game was to do it so wrong that he gets absolved from folding obligations!
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