Does my Bum Look Big in This?

On Friday night my friend Chastity came round for cheese and wine and to watch Song for Marion. We had wanted to see the film when it was in the cinema but hadn’t managed it.

When she arrived I took her into the kitchen to pour her a drink, although she was still hung over after Friday night as regaled below. When I turned away from her she giggled, “You’ve still got the price ticket hanging down the back of your top.”

I yanked off the charity shop label and as I did so I remembered another label incident a long time ago, in another life, when I lived in Sheep Country.

Horace and I were shopping in a designer outlet village called, not that it’s relevant, Cheshire Oaks. I wanted a new pair of jeans so we looked in the Levi shop and in various other fashion outlets and Horace was getting bored. “Can we go for a drink and a cake?” The usual request.

“In a minute, I just want to look in here.” We entered another jeans shop, I can’t remember which one. I chose an item, tried it on and decided to buy it so I queued up at the till. I suppose it must have seemed like a long time to Horace and she wandered about poking and fiddling with the clothing on shelves and hangers.

At last I was finished and we crossed back over the road towards a coffee shop amid quite a large crowd of people.

As we got to the opposite pavement I felt a tap on my shoulder and a rather embarrassed woman pushing a buggy, said, “Excuse me. I think you might like to know that you have something stuck to your bottom.”

Horace gave a snort and looked guilty.

With some bafflement I felt my behind and discovered that there was something shiny stuck to it. I pulled it off and held it up in front of me. There, dangling before my eyes, was one of those strips of red sticky tape used to label the legs of folded pairs of jeans. On it, to my horror, was written SIZE 24 SIZE 24 SIZE 24 SIZE 24. It was the largest size Horace could find.