Sunday morning saw us in Islington, feeling somewhat fragile -- clearly we'd had far too much wedding cake the night before. The Gap was having a sale so, as is our want, we headed in. PJ got some stuff, I idly picked up a pair of jeans, and handed them over at the last minute -- no time to try them on as we were off to the pub, but at 12.99, it wouldn't really matter if they didn't fit.
I tried them on last night. Could barely get them up over my thighs and they didn't come close to zipping up. I could see the look of fear in PJ's eyes as he started to back slowly out of the bedroom. Battling rising hysteria -- and with a certain degree of difficulty -- I pulled them off. "But they're my usual US size 6R!", I wailed. "This can't be right!". And it wasn't. Turns out they were a UK size 6R, a US size 2R: The multiple sales stickers had covered up the US sizing and my rather tired eyes had simply made a mistake. Crisis over!
However, I now have a rather nice pair of blue, left-weave bootcuts in a US size 2R. Any takers?
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1 comment:
size 2. OH how droll! if only, my dear.
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