It Had to Happen...
After days of scrubbing, manoeuvring grandchildren around, including a glorious outing to the Monkstown Puppet Theatre, where we laughed and cried with Snow White, eating ourselves silly and generally indulging in a feast of anarchy and blinking coloured lights, I escaped.
Where do you go on a relatively frosty day in the bleak mid-Winter?
Daft question.
To the Sales, of course...
I was leaving Dundrum Centre today as another wave of enthusiastic shoppers descended, muffled in scarves and with all the good humour of those who have just enjoyed yet another hearty late lunch. I had not set out to buy a coat. In fact, I was heading for the pharmacy to get some analgesic gel for a knotted muscle in that tender area near the right shoulder-blade, when the thought that the dresses in Harvey Nichols might be worth seeing again struck. Ever so often I go there to admire the fine fabrics and the outfits that are so reminiscent of the 'Sixties. Is everybody intend on dressing like a dolly-bird these days? They could do worse.
ANY...ways... the Sales there were astonishing. Having locked myself into one of the most spacious (and private) changing rooms I have ever visited I emerged happy and somewhat puzzled. I left with a coat, size 6 and an exceptionally loose fitting amethyst top that would bring one into any social event with winged feet.
The mixed metaphors are the result of having persisted in spending about another thirty minutes wandering round the Centre and buying some more practical items.
Having put on an impromptu fashion parade to entertain those who had stayed at home reading, I've now settled into researching why I am able to wear two American dress sizes that run the gamut from 6 to 10 in UK sizing and that are still large enough to have me not only breathe but also, in the case of the coat, leave enough room for a goodly number of jumpers to be worn underneath. Normally I'm a size 12. In size 10 I cannot move and when it comes to blouses in that size, they set about choking me in a very alarming manner.
There must be more to American sizing than meets the eye...
Where do you go on a relatively frosty day in the bleak mid-Winter?
Daft question.
To the Sales, of course...
I was leaving Dundrum Centre today as another wave of enthusiastic shoppers descended, muffled in scarves and with all the good humour of those who have just enjoyed yet another hearty late lunch. I had not set out to buy a coat. In fact, I was heading for the pharmacy to get some analgesic gel for a knotted muscle in that tender area near the right shoulder-blade, when the thought that the dresses in Harvey Nichols might be worth seeing again struck. Ever so often I go there to admire the fine fabrics and the outfits that are so reminiscent of the 'Sixties. Is everybody intend on dressing like a dolly-bird these days? They could do worse.
ANY...ways... the Sales there were astonishing. Having locked myself into one of the most spacious (and private) changing rooms I have ever visited I emerged happy and somewhat puzzled. I left with a coat, size 6 and an exceptionally loose fitting amethyst top that would bring one into any social event with winged feet.
The mixed metaphors are the result of having persisted in spending about another thirty minutes wandering round the Centre and buying some more practical items.
Having put on an impromptu fashion parade to entertain those who had stayed at home reading, I've now settled into researching why I am able to wear two American dress sizes that run the gamut from 6 to 10 in UK sizing and that are still large enough to have me not only breathe but also, in the case of the coat, leave enough room for a goodly number of jumpers to be worn underneath. Normally I'm a size 12. In size 10 I cannot move and when it comes to blouses in that size, they set about choking me in a very alarming manner.
There must be more to American sizing than meets the eye...
posted by Tales from the Birch Wood. at
18:03
2 Comments:
Many, many years ago, I was lucky enough to make it across the Atlantic for the post-Christmas sales in London, where I bought a fabulous black cape. Unfortunately, these days I must carry a bottle of oxygen in a backpack, so a cape is totally out of the question. A pitty. As for American sizes -- I find that I have gotten smaller and svelter each year, judged by what sizes fit me. I don't know if the cause is jobbing the manufacturing off to far places or if its strictly a flatter-the-customer gambit. I suspect the latter.
I think you are right, Granny J.
I once blundered into a shop in France for "Large Ladies" and after several minutes, was rescued by a sales assistant. The sizing system was not much help and was obviously designed to make us all feel small.
Our sales are exceptionally good and from the BBC I learn that post-Christmas trading is up 7% on the same time last year.
So much for recession talk...
Though it is claimed that we'll all shut our purses tight once the sales are over.
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