bigger and older (lyn)

Two stores; that is today’s shopping limit.  Two stores and no more than an hour.  These are the instructions Alexander gives me before leaving to walk a few blocks to 79^th and Madison.  It is freezing out, finally.  My kind of weather.

Our first stop is Joe Fresh, a new pop-up store that has great styles, quality, and ridiculously low prices.  Alexander gets three cashmere sweaters marked down to $49 each.  The 18-year old salesgirl thinks Alexander is, “in his twenties.”  While there, I decide to try on a pair of $19.95 cream-colored cord jeans, except there are none on display.  The salesgirl asks for my size, and says she’ll go in the back and check to see if there are any there.

Me:  I think I’m a size 27.

Joe Fresh Salesgirl:  Our clothes are marked, 0, 2, 4, etc.

Me:  Oh, then I’d probably be a 6.

JFS:  No way you’re a six.  I’m a size zero, so you’d probably be about a two.

Me:  No, I am definitely not a two.  And not even a four.  Really, I’m a six.

JFS:  You are not a six.  But let me check in back and see what we have.

Fortunately, she has no pants in any size, so I am saved from the embarrassment of proving her wrong.

Our next and final stop is J Crew to look for shirts.  Another cute young salesgirl helps us there.   Alexander and I disagree over a shirt that I like but he doesn’t.  The salesgirl says, “I can see where your mom might not like it.”  And I calmly respond, “Oh, I’m not his mom; I’m his girlfriend.”  The salesgirl laughs after a momentary flash of fluster.

Maybe, just maybe, a naïve salesgirl can think I am smaller than a size six.  But no degree of gullibility can reasonably convince anyone that I’m dating a 19-year-old.