Size

                       They sat in the dressing room waiting for her. The girl was in another dressing room, her self-consciousness did not allow her to undress in front of them. She came out in a blue dress that was scrunched, had no straps and and two sparkly strands of diamonds down her sides. They did not approve.

“That dress is too tight,” Carol said. Carol was always the first one to speak up and was not one to disguise what she was thinking. “You need the next size up.”

The girl’s smiling face turned into a frown, as if her elegant carriage had turned back into a pumpkin. “It’s my size though. This is the size I usually wear,” she said with a quivering voice. She started to tear up.

“You can’t go by size. Everything is different,” Carol said.

“Yeah.” The word wiggled its way out of the sobbing girl’s mouth.

“What size do you think this shirt is?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look in the back.”

The girl went to Carol’s shirt and saw that the tag had a tiny X next to a tiny L, “Oh.”

“It’s called a slim fit. It gives me the narrow cut I need on my torso.”

“Okay.”

“See? Why don’t you try on that black dress?”

“I’m going in order. I’ll get to the black dress soon.” She went back to her own dressing room and looked at the next dress. It was a gray dress with a stiff material. There was a large V cut and a silver sequent belt. She zipped the dress up and it fit, then she happily walked to the next room. Carol smiled.

“You look lovely.”

“I don’t like the way it looks on your breasts,” chimed in the girl’s mother, who had three new selections in her hand.

“I see what you mean,” the girl said with a sad tone. “I’ll go change.”

“Honey before you go, what about these?” Her mother held up the three dresses and the girl shot them down one by one.

“The one with the lace is too old lady for me, the purple one is too short and I just hate the green one. Can I change now?” Her mother nodded. The girl ran back into the room. She felt defeated. She looked in the mirror and started to pick out her flaws. She first leaned forward and noticed that her chin was breaking out, then she noticed that she needed an eyebrow wax. Then she stood to her side, she saw how heavy she was. She gripped the folds of her sides as she tried to suck in her stomach. “That was such a waste,” she whispered to herself. “I did all that and then I still look like this.” She began to sob, tears streamed down her face. “Why did I spend all that money on something that didn’t work. No, I didn’t work. I need to work harder.” She collected herself and put on the next dress. It was cream, tight and had gems on the chest. She took a good look in the mirror, she loved it. This is the dress, she thought to herself. She walked into the dressing room and waited for their approval.

“Oh honey!” Carol exclaimed as if all of Lord and Taylor had to hear.

“This is better but it’s not great,” her mother said with a disapproving tone. “I think you’d need a sweater over that.”

“I’d hate this with a sweater.”

“Honey, just try it,” Carol persuaded.

                The girl grudgingly put on the sweater. It was a bust length, shiny silver sweater that did not close. The girl liked it much more than she had suspected. “It’s not bad.”

“I like it more, but I still don’t think that it works on your chest. You can’t show cleavage in temple.”

“Honey try on the black one. It’s the one we’ve been waiting for.”

“I told you, I’m going in order. I only have a few left.” She pranced back to her dressing room and returned a few minutes later in a floor length gray gown with a single shoulder strap.

“I hate it.”

“Honey, put on the black one.”

The girl said nothing and went back to the dressing room. She returned in a knee length bright blue dress with slim spaghetti straps and gems under the bust. “I look like I’m thirteen.”

“This reminds me too much of all the dresses you wore to the bar mitzvahs in seventh grade.”

“Honey, I know I keep asking, but try on the black dress. I just want to see how it looks.”

The girl went back to her room and looked through the large pile of dresses to find the black one. She found it, floor length with diamond straps that crossed in the back revealing a large section for the girl’s upper back torso. She walked into the other dressing room and exclaimed, “What do you think?”

“It’s too matronly. I don’t like the floor length on you.”

“Honey, I think it’s nice but I think there are better ones in there. Go back in and try again.”

The girl sighed and walked back into the dressing room and looked through the pile one more time and one dress caught her eye. It was a short, silvery tunic, covered in sequins. She slipped the dress over her head and adjusted it so that the top bloused over the pencil-fit skirt. She waltzed back to the other dressing room with pride. She knew she looked good.

“Finally, the black one!”

“This is the black one? I thought the other dress was the black one.”

“No, honey, this is the dress we’ve been waiting for and it’s perfect. You know why? Because your mother can’t wear it. You’re at a special time in your life, at this age you can wear that sort of stuff and look amazing. Your mother would look silly wearing that.”

“I like it, but you need to take off the black belt.” Her mother stood up and undid the black string around her waist.

“What kind of jewelry would I wear with this?”

“Big earrings, some rings and no necklace.”

“Hon, I think you need the next size down,” Carol turned to the girl’s mother and said, “Go see if they have a size ten petite.” The mother stood up and left the room to look in the vast fields of the dress department. The girl sat in her place. “Honey, I think that this is the perfect dress. Your mother can’t wear it, this is a college age dress.”

“I know.”

“And you have to play with sizes, you may even be an eight petite.”

The mother returned with the size down. The dressing room was getting crowded and the girl decided that she was more embarrassed about taking up two rooms than getting undressed in front of her mother and grandmother. She gathered her clothing in her arms and walked out of the room “You can use this room,” she said to a woman waiting with a small child. She walked back to the room where her mother was waiting with the size down. She slipped the dress over her head and looked in the mirror. It fit like a glove.

“Honey, this is the dress. Go get dressed and I’ll take this to the register, my treat.”

The girl went back to her dressing room to get dressed. Before she removed the sequin tunic she took one last look in the mirror and decided that she had never found a better fit than that sequin tunic.