Dear Old Navy,
About a week ago I gave in and bought some pants online from you. This was against my every better instinct because every single pair of pants I’ve ever bought online in the past has failed miserably. I have a policy against it. Well Old Navy, I received that package today and ripped it open in my car before I even got home. I couldn’t help it; the prospect of new pants was making me feel all squishy inside. I really wanted this to work out.
Old Navy, they were beautiful. And soft. I think I pet them for fifteen minutes before going to my evening job. Okay, I might have just done this because I was losing it a little but, but still…
When I got home tonight, I feared actually trying them on; the illusion would have to be spoiled all too soon. I took them out of my purse and stared at them for about a minute before deciding to try the black pair first. Perhaps it would cover more flaws. As I picked them up, sure this was going to end tragically, I measured them to my waist… no, it would never work. I considered just going to sleep without trying them on but decided that I had to give them just one chance before I started spewing expletives.
I unbuttoned them and stepped into them… about half way up I thought, “Nope, this is not working…” but then they seemed to keep going up. When I got them around my waist and was starting to consider trying to button them I had a sudden flashback of my many days in many dressing rooms… The Limited who for a while had the only short sized jeans that fit me… then Ross where I could always find a skirt but never pants… than your own dressing rooms where I’ve cried more than a few times… and to Target and Lane Bryant and so many more. All of these dressing rooms had the commonalities of not only a muffin top not to be trifled with but also a choking feeling in my midsection and in my throat.
Is this what you are turning my bedroom into for me too? I started the struggle… and then stopped. They fit. Just like they were made for me, short and everything. I quickly considered going back online and buying a pair in every color and every size down to a 16 since that is your smallest plus size. So, Old Navy, do you want to have a slumber party in my basement? I heart you.
Dear Lane Bryant,
I know we had been at a truce because of the last pair of pants I had bought from you but I am ending that here. I know that others are grateful for you and love you but as far as I’m concerned, Lane Bryant can kiss my fat, Old Navy clad ass. Not only do you put me at a size larger than every other measurement chart on the planet, but you make it really confusing by pretending that I don’t know I’m fat and making the sizes start at 1. That’s stupid.
I’m pretty sure that you also charge so much more just because I’m fat. I know that you and others will say that it’s because of quality but I own your pants. I know better.
I might have looked past all of this because I really love the look of two of the pairs of pants I have from you but you had to go and either discontinue or restyle both of them to stupid versions. I mean, the V in the back of the Houston Pants? Really not good when you have a butt crack of epic proportions.
It’s also impossible for me to justify spending $60 that I don’t really have on pants when I know that my thighs are going to rub holes in the fabric before they’ve fully stretched out to the size you pretend they are.
I know that you’re trying hard to work with us fatties by making things in different shapes but they are overly exaggerated and end up making me look stupid anyway. Old Navy is my bitch once again and I’ll be spending all my money with her… besides, it’s easy to get in her pants.