Dressing Rooms

As I tried on two sizes of clothes in the mall dressing room, examining how washed out my face looked and noticing that my hair seemed to have a green tinge, I wondered if any woman feels good about herself in the dressing room. I had my answer when I heard a gasp come from another stall.

Such is every woman’s dilemma as she goes to try on clothes. Or is it? Does a super model look at herself in a mirror and groan? Does she have a super cool mirror that automatically air brushes what she sees? Not that she needs that if the TV doesn’t lie.


However, for the rest of us who aren’t fortunate enough to have a personal trainer, dietician or many hours in the day to exercise but does possess coupons for Doritos, we sneak into a dressing room with head held high, tummy sucked in, eyes half closed and do our best to get into what really should be our size if the manufacturer hadn’t messed it up and made it too small.  Where is the quality control in determining how much material actually goes into the sizes?


One thing that did persuade me from weeping out loud once when I tried on a dress for a work party, was having my year-old son with me.  I had let him escape from his prison of a stroller and secured him (or so I thought) in the dressing room with me.  While I had my eyes half-closed, I realized that all I saw besides the lumps and bumps in my dress, was the bottom of my son’s shoes. That’s because, he had decided to visit my neighbor, who let out a different kind of gasp, one associated with a face suddenly appearing at your feet while you’re trying not to look too closely in the mirror.


I hope she didn’t take his giggling too personally.


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