There is something to be said for the traditions of a Greek Wedding.
Up to the 1950's I would have been very fashionable in my buxom way. Curves, curves and yet more cuddly curves were the order of the day and how could it not have been so after a dreadful number of years where so many didn't have enough to eat. Memories are notoriously short and the baby boomers decided on a more slender ideal to aim for. Who can ever forget Twiggy kick-starting that image revolution ?
Companies have had a ball selling us potions, lotions and notions, knowing full and well that most of us have a better chance of flying to the moon than of sustaining thin proportions. Keeps us coming back for more and filling their coffers along the way.
Well, finding a pair of denims that are trendy, comfortable and don't make one look like a stuffed sausage is nigh on impossible. A few months ago I thought I'd hit jackpot and in my euphoria bought two of the same thinking ahead to when the first one would disintegrate. Gosh, what a feeling walking out of a shop with not one but two pairs of jeans in my possession.
I put the first pair through a thorough wash ( poisonous dyes ) before wearing them for a night on the town...a trip to Stubits down the road. Walking there was great but after sitting for a while tasting their delicious potables, I got up to go home and my pants seemed to have stretched to such an extent that they resembled ghetto pants. There is nothing more irritating than having to hitch your pants up every few minutes.
Being in town yesterday and being an optimist, I gave the denim quest another go. Buying and trying on clothes is my least favourite chore. The first two shops only had the stretch sausage shape variety. In desperation I thought I would give one of the more illustrious shops in the mall a try. A friendly gal in the front directed me to the back of the store where they kept a few bigger sizes ( 14 -16 ). Almost like a walk of shame.
As only happens in loftier shops, a sales woman miraged next to me seemingly out of thin air and asked what I was looking for. No mincing of words for her. She was of course more of a size 6 but sadly, her expression resembled that of a person who'd just eaten a sour lemon. Head tilted back, nose quivering and disdain etched on every contour of her face. Not a good look. Very off putting and dare I say, slightly intimidating. Not to mention her ennui at having to look for a size 16. " Ooh, we don't carry many of those. ".
Let's just say that I felt uncomfortable and wasn't certain if she was size-ist or thought I couldn't afford the jeans. One does catch more flies with honey and I liberally doused her in it until some of her sour expression disappeared.
Perhaps next time I venture into her territory, I will emulate a Greek bride and pin my money on my clothes...