Only recently have I realized that I’ve been wearing clothing too small for me. It seems like I’m always growing. People who haven’t seen me in a while will always comment on my height, say that I’ve grown a few inches since last time.
I used to think I was a medium; go through my t-shirts and you’ll find mostly those. But all have felt snug lately. So I went to a store the other day and tried on some mediums. Too tight. Either “they” have changed the width and lengths of shirt sizes or I have gotten bigger. My arms look gawky.
I’ve had trouble finding comfortable clothing my entire life. My frame falls somewhere between a medium and large, to the point where I am swimming in larges. But I prefer the billowiness of them to the tightness of medium.
I tend to choose clothing that fits properly over its color or style. But I do like clothing that reminds me of fall. Older clothing has always fit me better for some reason, too; there must have been more people my size thirty years ago. For me, the selection at thrift stores is better size wise and also style wise; except when intentional, no two items are alike. Also, the prices make more sense. With the amount of sweating and cooking I do, (sometimes at the same time), my clothing doesn’t stay unstained for long.
There’s also something appealing about reusing somebody’s old clothing; it comes with its own character. I still buy most pants at mall stores; my size is more readily available, though still rarer to find.
These days, I just let clothes float in and out of my life. I borrow from friends mostly, and let friends take whatever, and that takes a lot of the searching out of it and a lot of the emotion. I go with what I have access to, and if that doesn’t work, I don’t wear anything at all. It’s getting too hot besides.
Microfiction
