Just as I always suspected

NOTE:  Jez (you know who you are...) if you are reading this, you might not want to read any further.

In fact, I think you'd better not.  Probably waaaaaaaaaay too much information.  L. can read it though :)

OK, so presuming you're not J. read on:

Mister Bear gave me a gift voucher for Christmas for a certain store that specialises in how shall we say, ummmm, women's undergarments.  I put off using it as I was going to get thin.  Yeah, right.  Like that is *ever* going to happen.  Decided mid last week that I'd stop pfaffing about and take the gift voucher in and spend it.

I've waxed lyrical a few times about how I don't exist in the clothing world, and yesterday I had it confirmed.

In a store that specialises in WU and has WU from one end of the store to the other, in every colour, pattern, shape and style you could possibly imagine, guess how many garments they had in my size.

Go on, guess.

Exactly ONE.

One.  So I bought it.  And in a side note to the flat stomached, lithe, perky-breasted, barely-in her twenties sales assistant, women of a certain age (and certain size) do not need to look in the mirror in the fitting room thank-you-very-much.  Women of a certain age and size have perfected the art of trying on clothes without looking in the mirror.  Unless it is essential.  And mostly, it isn't.

Exit clothing store in tears.  Again. 

Just as I always suspected, I don't exist.