“Those jeans run big.”
The girl working in the store is only being helpful. It is a sunny, cold afternoon, and I’ve decided to spend it shopping. After rummaging through the store looking for tops I saw on TikTok, I decide to look for the jeans I saw on my friend last night. I don’t know what it was, but they just fit her exactly right.
I reach for my usual size, 6. That’s when the saleswoman says it: “Those run big.”
When I was younger, the numbers 4 and 6 were nothing but ages. I remember people asking my age a lot back then. I was proud to be 4 and then thrilled to be 6. Four was just the number after 3 and before 5, or the number of presents I got for my birthday. Six was half-past on an old-fashioned clock. I didn’t think about it.
Now as an adult, 4 holds so much power over me. It is no longer just a number.
I nod at the only-trying-to-be-helpful saleswoman and grab a size 4 instead of 6.
This is me in the dressing room: