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Size Zero????

According to a recent study I've just made up, the number one fear among men ages 5 to 87 is to get stuck clothes shopping with a woman. Ninety-six percent of those surveyed were "terrified" by the thought of standing outside the fitting room all day, amidst heaps of rejected outfits, trying to convince Ms. X. that she is not, in fact, "fat." Most expressed contempt for women's shopping habits, calling nine hours "way too long" to obsess over a single pair of jeans.
While I am usually the first to criticize members of the oposite gender for being absurd (e.g. when they purposely yank out their eyebrows with tweezers, participate in beauty pageants or go on the cabbage soup diet), I draw the line at clothes shopping. Sorry, people, but I'm going to have to side with the women on this one. People who design and produce women's clothing are -- and I say this without hesitation, apology or clarification -- a sadistic bunch of crackheads who live only to cause others misery and pain. These people are like the dentist from the movie Little Shop of Horrors If it only takes nine hours to find an acceptable pair of jeans these people created, I call that an accomplishment.
Shopping for women's clothes is not at all like shopping for men's clothes.
For example, I know my waist measurement in inches, (I aint’ saying what it is, but I know it!) it'll take me about 10 seconds to find a pair of pants that fit. Why? Because the waist and inseam measurements of each individual pair of pants are written right there on the tags. Imagine that. The tags actually tell me how big the pants are. What a beautiful system we men have!
The tags on women's pants offer no such information. No, that would make things much too easy. Instead, women's pants are organized according to "size." These "sizes" -- generally odd or even numbers -- are determined by a panel of blind chimpanzees in Potugal. There's no guarantee that two pairs of pants of the same style, labeled with the same number and sold in the same store will be the same size!  
While we're on the subject of size, I feel I should include a sidebar on the cultural abomination that is size zero. Size zero? Call me old-fashioned, but I always thought of "zero" as being without size. A more accurate description would be: garment that fits snugly on a Barbie doll.
The reason I bring this up at all is that my wife is mad that she is the size that she is.  I find this absolutely ridiculous!  Her size is not a real number, its an imaginary one that some one wanted her to believe that she was.  This number (which like we stated earlier is different on all types, brands and stores) is supposed to represent how sexy, my wife is to men!  This size is absolutely sexist, and wrong.  Now if the number inside of a women’s clothes were in inches, or even (god forbid the metric system) centimeters, then I would see how some women would get upset at themselves for being to big, or so skinny.  But to rely on some egotistical, ass-hole, fashion designer to determine if my wife is sexy makes me sick!
But I degress.
Watching my wife try on clothes is the worst. And by "the worst," I mean, so horrific it defies description. But I'll do my best. Because fashion designers have this crazy idea that women are supposed to have round hips, slim waists and ample chests, the thick-waisted women are doomed to a series of humiliations. Garments pinch, sag and stretch in all the wrong places under fluorescent lights that make women look like dead water buffalo. All I hear is screaming from within the little stall, and then cloths fly.
Now I am not saying that us men have it easy, we don’t, and my wife try’s to keep me away from her most of the time that she shops, I think she feels sorry for me. I just think we guys should lay off the ridicule. I mean our mundane teasing pales in comparison to the mock-fest enjoyed by the clothing these women discard. And until we have squeezed your wide feet into a pair of pointy dress shoes, that make their feet bleed and warp. I am sure they don't want to hear it from us.
This would be a great time for me to get preachy, to boldly challenge women to defy socially defined dress codes, to mention the pair of men's cargo pants my wife ended up buying this weekend. Ideally, I'd also toss in a line about accepting yourself the way you are, even if that means giving the metaphorical finger to the fashion industry. But I won't insult your intelligence; I am just a guy, and although I don’t understand most things, I will give you women some advice. I'll just remind you to laugh at yourself whenever possible (i.e. often). It won't make your pants fit any better, but it will make flinging them at your shopping buddy easier for both of you to take.

CityCowboy

 by CityCowboy

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