I recently bought new underwear.
Now before you get all nervous (or excited, for the piggos out there), this isn’t one of those types of blogs. I’m not going to describe snippets of lace or see-through mesh numbers. No, I bought these panties from Hanes, because I’m old and I care less about looking sexy these days, and more about not giving myself a wedgie when I sit down.
So back to my underwear shopping. I bought them online, and I’ll admit, I had to sort of guess what size to get. You see, the website did provide a size chart, but it went by waist and hip size in inches. I find these types of charts not helpful at all, mostly because they never have a size that correlates with both my waist and hips. (“Impossible,” the Hanes representative said when I called for advice and gave my measurements. I had to assure her it was not: I’d inherited my proportions from my mother, who inherited hers from my grandmother. I also told the Hanes representative that while Grandma would’ve had some sort of sassy comeback to the impossible remark, I was simply going to hang up now and maybe give my phone the middle finger.)
I guessed at my size and waited for my cute new undies to come in the mail.
When they arrived, the first thing I noticed was that the size chart on the package of underwear itself actually included a third column, one labeled “pant size” (For example, if you wear a size 10–12, you’d buy a 7 in Hanesland.) This one little column would’ve been extremely helpful had Hanes made it available on their website, or if the judgy “That’s impossible” customer service rep had bothered to mention it before I’d hung up on her.
I’d bought the wrong size. By a long shot. I held up my size 9 Hanes and sighed. I could return them and order a smaller size, but that sounded like a lot of work, plus possibly I’d have to use printer ink to print out a return label. Have you seen the price of printer ink lately? The return label would cost more than the underwear!
I chose option two, which was to call the Hanes help line, put them on speakerphone while the representative asked, “Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?”, and flip the phone the double bird, which everyone knows is twice as bad as just one middle finger. Then I sat down and got to work. In less than two weeks, I was able to eat my way up to a Hanes size nine, which was no easy feat, let me assure you. But I did it, and in record time, too.
I like to think Grandma would’ve been proud.
Now before you get all nervous (or excited, for the piggos out there), this isn’t one of those types of blogs. I’m not going to describe snippets of lace or see-through mesh numbers. No, I bought these panties from Hanes, because I’m old and I care less about looking sexy these days, and more about not giving myself a wedgie when I sit down.
So back to my underwear shopping. I bought them online, and I’ll admit, I had to sort of guess what size to get. You see, the website did provide a size chart, but it went by waist and hip size in inches. I find these types of charts not helpful at all, mostly because they never have a size that correlates with both my waist and hips. (“Impossible,” the Hanes representative said when I called for advice and gave my measurements. I had to assure her it was not: I’d inherited my proportions from my mother, who inherited hers from my grandmother. I also told the Hanes representative that while Grandma would’ve had some sort of sassy comeback to the impossible remark, I was simply going to hang up now and maybe give my phone the middle finger.)
I guessed at my size and waited for my cute new undies to come in the mail.
When they arrived, the first thing I noticed was that the size chart on the package of underwear itself actually included a third column, one labeled “pant size” (For example, if you wear a size 10–12, you’d buy a 7 in Hanesland.) This one little column would’ve been extremely helpful had Hanes made it available on their website, or if the judgy “That’s impossible” customer service rep had bothered to mention it before I’d hung up on her.
I’d bought the wrong size. By a long shot. I held up my size 9 Hanes and sighed. I could return them and order a smaller size, but that sounded like a lot of work, plus possibly I’d have to use printer ink to print out a return label. Have you seen the price of printer ink lately? The return label would cost more than the underwear!
I chose option two, which was to call the Hanes help line, put them on speakerphone while the representative asked, “Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?”, and flip the phone the double bird, which everyone knows is twice as bad as just one middle finger. Then I sat down and got to work. In less than two weeks, I was able to eat my way up to a Hanes size nine, which was no easy feat, let me assure you. But I did it, and in record time, too.
I like to think Grandma would’ve been proud.
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