The meerkat report # 5

Trouser shopping Or A morning in hell

I don't like to shop for clothes. Well, bottoms (trousers and skirts... and shoes). And no, there's nothing wrong with me, I just happen to be a woman that doesn't like to shop when it comes to the lower half of the wardrobe. Now imagine me having to do it in a foreign country. I was half prepared for it regarding shoeware from a previous experience (when shopping for new trainers the shop clerk asked me what number I was and my mind when blank. I had no idea and so had to guess.) but that was a pretty inocuous experience when compared to... trouser shopping. Because of the jealous fits of our washing machine (long story) and because I couldn't bring a lot of clothes when I moved in, my trousers were almost reduced to ragged shreds (more so than I'd like to admit) and so I simply had no choice but to endure what was a very nerve-wrecking and stressful morning. First, pajama bottoms. That was fairly straight forward as the whole section was categorized in S, M and L. The denim section, on the other hand, was pure hell. I couldn't make heads or tails of it (still can't). I found items marked with letters (S, M and L), and with numbers that varied from the one digit, to 10s, 20s, 30s and 40s. Now, you'd think "wow, that a pretty wide range!". Except it isn't! It's just that some trousers were marked with European sizes, others with American sizes and others with the UK sizes. Except most times it didn't say which was which! So I could fit a whole second person in a 16 but could hardly get a 27 past my knee. Bonkers, isn't it? Oh but it got better! I can't explain why (whether it was something to do with the cut or the fabric), but I couldn't button some 10s and 14s, but ended up buying a 12 that was considerably loose and baggy. What????? I don't get it, I really don't. And right now I'm just relieved that I got out of the shop alive and with all my wits (well....) and I'll just enjoy the fact that I don't have to think about it for a while (unless the washing maching goes mental again) whilst holding on the little hope that next time it'll somehow make some sense.