It's not like I'm complaining, I would never complain, my father worked six days a week painting houses but did he ever stop and say, "You know what, this is hard, I'm not going to do it?" No. He would stop and say, "It means the world to me to provide for you and your mother and goddamnit I'm going to do so, even if it means these paint fumes trigger a friggin brain annuerism. Even if I keel over right here, I want you to remember that I put my nose to the grindstone and I kept plugging away."
So am I going to point out how patently unfair it is that you don't carry tall sizes and any of the Manhattan JCrew locations event though statistically, female New Yorkers are 1/2-1 inches taller than women in other parts of the country? Absolutely not, because that's not what I do. I'm used to slogging through and finding an alternative, so it will be no problem at all to research stores where I can actually walk in and find a pair of matchstick corduroys that reach past my ankles. That's what I was programmed to do.
And I'm certainly not going to sit at this customer service desk all day, nitpicking those aspects of corporate American culture that will never change, no matter how many times citizens raise their voices in protest. I'm not going to ask for exceptions to be made, or point out how unfair the alteration policy is when applied to people of vastly significant body types. It's in my nature to make do--I've been culling clothing that somehow fits my freakishly sized body from the hodgepodge racks of retailers I would otherwise avoid and incredibly frustrating online shopping sites. Do I find it sad and upsetting that the only thing that covers my torso most days is a shoddy factory second spun several inches too long due to a careless foreign worker neglecting their machinery for a few minutes? No, I don't, because it's not the type of thing I dwell on. I don't look a t-shirts embellished with delicate flowers of tulle, like the one you're wearing for example, and think--oh boy I only wish I could find one of those that wouldn't leave a slight and annoying gap between my jeans waistband and the hem! I'm too busy moving on with my life, on to the next thing. You know? I'm too busy going on a date, that is so mindnumbingly boring my brain starts to bleed, a fact I would not once mention when pressed for a recap because I know enough to know that other people aren't interested in my sad love life, no matter how depressing it is. I don't even find it depressing, because I don't have that thing where I take all my previous relationships and place them in an unending, unbroken long line of psychic misery leading straight toward death. I don't know what it is but negativity isn't in my blood. Look--I'm not asking you to perform some crazy miracle because I don't wax philosophical about religious issues in public, no matter how important that waxing might be.
So am I going to point out how patently unfair it is that you don't carry tall sizes and any of the Manhattan JCrew locations event though statistically, female New Yorkers are 1/2-1 inches taller than women in other parts of the country? Absolutely not, because that's not what I do. I'm used to slogging through and finding an alternative, so it will be no problem at all to research stores where I can actually walk in and find a pair of matchstick corduroys that reach past my ankles. That's what I was programmed to do.
And I'm certainly not going to sit at this customer service desk all day, nitpicking those aspects of corporate American culture that will never change, no matter how many times citizens raise their voices in protest. I'm not going to ask for exceptions to be made, or point out how unfair the alteration policy is when applied to people of vastly significant body types. It's in my nature to make do--I've been culling clothing that somehow fits my freakishly sized body from the hodgepodge racks of retailers I would otherwise avoid and incredibly frustrating online shopping sites. Do I find it sad and upsetting that the only thing that covers my torso most days is a shoddy factory second spun several inches too long due to a careless foreign worker neglecting their machinery for a few minutes? No, I don't, because it's not the type of thing I dwell on. I don't look a t-shirts embellished with delicate flowers of tulle, like the one you're wearing for example, and think--oh boy I only wish I could find one of those that wouldn't leave a slight and annoying gap between my jeans waistband and the hem! I'm too busy moving on with my life, on to the next thing. You know? I'm too busy going on a date, that is so mindnumbingly boring my brain starts to bleed, a fact I would not once mention when pressed for a recap because I know enough to know that other people aren't interested in my sad love life, no matter how depressing it is. I don't even find it depressing, because I don't have that thing where I take all my previous relationships and place them in an unending, unbroken long line of psychic misery leading straight toward death. I don't know what it is but negativity isn't in my blood. Look--I'm not asking you to perform some crazy miracle because I don't wax philosophical about religious issues in public, no matter how important that waxing might be.
