It’s the petite department…again.
I feel like Godzilla lumbering among a group of sprites.
Little women, tiny, short, petite, small…did I mention short, are everywhere flitting about.
My Dad wouldn’t be caught dead standing here under the glaring florescent lights, with sore feet, and aching back from peering down onto what I swear are shorter then usual racks of clothing.
Maybe I’m just the replacement husband, the fill in, the handler.
The one standing on the sidelines awkwardly hanging onto a corner of her handbag, parcels weighing down my arms. Pretending that I did not accidentally wander into this bastion of femininity, also known as the “petite department.”
Where is the normal sized stuff I want to shout!
Actually where is the tall girl/women department?
There isn’t one, there never is, there are not enough of us to warrant our own department.
It’s becoming a Mother/Daughter shopping ritual for me to stand there acting like I’m really about 2 feet shorter then my six one, lurking in the “petite department.” I’m outstanding, and I don’t mean talented, did you catch the drool tone of my voice, underlaid with love for my Mom.
Please don’t leave me a comment telling me how much I should appreciate my much shorter Mom, I love her dearly..this is just a odd situation, that’s all. And I guess if you are not tall, you are really not going to understand, just pretend, and laugh nicely.
I love spending time with her, but when we end up “just to take a quick look dear,” in the petite department I really stick out. Couldn’t that become the domain of my normal sized sister, the one who doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb, a green giant, or a bean pole?
I dread the double take of the sales clerks, as they sally forth with armfuls of delightful little frocks….something I haven’t fit into since I was 12.
“My dear” one well meaning salesperson whispered into my ear one time…”you are shopping in the petite department, and you my dear, are NOT petite.” Really, and all this time I had no idea.
Ack, I'm….I’m tall, I had no idea.
Since then I always make sure to only rifle through the doll sized clothes when no one is gazing at me…it’s a great way to look like a shoplifter.
Each time I look into the magical dorky mirrors in the petite department, the woman who is towering over the glass looks tired, pale, and her clothes that seemed to be perfectly fitting when she left the house, are now too short in all areas. What do they treat the air with in here? Shrink spray?
Even the chairs are petite…ever seen a six foot one skinny giantess slouching on a wire framed boudoir chair? Hang out with us, and you will.
The worst is the sad look of sympathy from a well intentioned sales associate who purses her lips and apologizes for not having anything to fit my extra tall arms and legs. I kind of knew that when I read the sign over your store…”Good things come in small packages”
Yes, but equally good things come in tall ones also.
If you were a reader of Laurie’s blog I love a cloudy day, you will be happy to know that she is back to blogging, here’s a link to her new blog. And if you have never visited her drop by and say hi, she’s delightful, and we are all thrilled to have her back.