'Meh' Sweatshirt

Today was one of those days that did not prove worthwhile to get out of bed. Cranky, grumpy, irritable, cantankerous, ill tempered which are easily summed up by the expression  'meh'. 

My day was ruined by a sweatshirt. 

I had been patiently waiting for a sweatshirt I ordered a couple of months ago. When mail man delivered my package I shook with anticipation & fear.  Apprehensively I cut open the plastic and took out my new sweatshirt. Standing at the counter, I lovingly stroked it like a new kitten.  I smelled it, rubbed it against my cheek & sighed.  Bonding had begun.   Carefully, I placed it on the counter, where I was able to smile at it and flirt with it from a far.  

I special ordered my new friend because I needed a unusual size and worked with the artist on the design. Assuredly this sweatshirt was going to forge my membership into the  'in-group' wearing the cool sweatshirts everyone else seemed to have - except for me - due to my fatness.

Obviously there is a large part of my fragile psyche that is wedged in high school. 

Today was the day.  I was going to wear my new baby.  In advance I selected the jeans, my tee-shirt and socks.  I cradled up my beautiful new sweatshirt, coo'ed to it and perched it reverently it on the dresser where I was able to watch it like a sleeping infant as I dressed. 

Then I was ready.  I stood in front of the mirror, took in a deep breath and slowly slipped it on.

One arm... 

Dammit, I forgot to hold onto my tee-shirt sleeve, as it slid up to my elbow.  

Lets start this again, hold onto sleeve, slip my arm into the hole.

Okay, now the next arm.

Uhhhhh?

This doesn't feel right.

Is one arm longer than the other?

I hold them in front of me and look.  No, they appear to be the same length they were when I went to bed last night.

Must have twisted the arm of my teeshirt as I pulled the sweatshirt on.  So I adjusted it.  It still felt weird.  Looking in the mirror, I zipped it.

Why is this tight?  Why is the zipper being pulled in one direction?  The gig line is decidedly crooked.

As far as I knew my fatness was evenly distributed, although the sweatshirt seemed to disagree.  

Okay, maybe it just needs to settle down, get to know my body.  I am just being paranoid.  This is the right size.  I know it is.  Right?

I took it off and double checked the size label.  Yep, it is what I ordered.

I put it back on...and felt the beginning of tears.

How idiotic!  I am NOT going to cry over a stupid sweatshirt!  GET IT TOGETHER!

I looked at my clock.  I needed to leave, it was time for my appointment.  I left the sweatshirt on and left the house. 


It felt funny when I was driving.  Kept twisting.  Annoyed. I am trying to ignore it.  I went about my business, saw the doctor, came home walked into the house and ripped the sweatshirt off. John had not yet left for work so I asked him to please come over and try the sweatshirt on for me - I needed to see it on another person. 


He gave me one of those looks, "you want me to try on GIRL CLOTHES?"  I had to explain to him that this was a 'uni-sex" sweatshirt.  He relented with his manhood firmly intact. 


When he slipped it on I could see the problem.  One arm is larger than the other.  The fronts are two different sizes. 

My sweatshirt is retarded. 


Meh, meh....MEH!