25

The Sales Associate asked what I was doing with the couple pair of jeans I had draped across my left arm.

"I'm on my way to the dressing room to try them on?"

"Go ahead," she said, "but show me when you're ready."

"Ok?"

"Trust me. I know how to size people. It's my job. When I saw you picking jeans from the wrong rack, I knew you needed help."

"I do? Well, here I go..." I ducked into the booth, pulled the striped curtain, slipped out of my old dudes Bermuda shorts and wriggled into one snug pair of skinnies.

"Show me," Aimee the S.A. said.

"Minute?" I replied, sotto voce. I gave myself the once-over in the full-length mirror and thought, Not bad! Swoosh went the curtain.

"Ta-da!" Aimee tilted her head as she pursed her lips. Her eyes went from my belly down to my ankles, and then back up to my belly. She stuck her index finger out in front of her and made a circular motion. I complied and demonstrated a rather wobbly pirouette. Aimee's pucker turned into a frown.

"Hitch your thumb inside the waistband. Let me see what kind of room you got." What? I wondered. This pair is painted on my ass as it is!

"Sure," I answered. For emphasis, I tugged on the waist to show Aimee I had a good 2" to spare.

"Take 'em off!"

"But they feel just right."

"You're not supposed to stretch the waist out that much. Those jeans are absolutely too big."

"But I like them."

"Wait for me in the dressing room. I've got a couple fits I want you to try. But I know I can get you into a 1." Aimee turned on her heel and headed for the back of the shop.

"A one what?" I called after her.