The sweater song...

Wandering around my local shopping centre yesterday afternoon, a jumper caught my eye in a fairly new shop's window.  It was a beautiful burnt orange colour and was covered in silver stars.  I had a few jobs to do first (these mainly involved eating a Bakewell Tart with a coffee and posting one letter) but on the way back to the car, I thought I'd pop in the shop and get the lowdown on the sweater.

'Afternoon', I said ever so politely, 'The orange sweater in the window?  Is it baggy or is it fitted?'

'I wouldn't say it was exactly fitted', she said, taking the jumper out of the window.  Shaking it out in front of me, it measured around 1.5 metres squared, and from behind the voluminous orange folds, her muffled voice said, 'See what I mean?  Most of our jumpers are like this and come in one size'.

Now ladies.  There is one size, and there is one size.

The first kind, the one we like the best, is the kind which glides over any undulating rolls of blubber which we may have about our person. It is usually made of a non-static material with some weight in it to encourage further streamlining.  These one size items allow for layering (usually with some kind of vacuum underwear underneath) and can be accessorized with over sized jewelry and bright scarves.  We like this kind of one size.

What she was holding up in front of me did not fall into this category.  This jumper could have doubled up as a horse blanket or warmer attire for Demis Roussos should he need it.  This jumper, if laid out on the floor, would have had its own postcode, and possibly a church and pub on the left arm with a bus stop on the right.  This was not a jumper.  This was an undiscovered county.

'So your 'one size'?'  I said, marvelling at the fact that she was still able to hold the jumper up.  'What size is that exactly?'   

'Well in theory', she replied, laying the jumper on the table as she was risking losing all circulation in her arms, 'it should fit anyone between a size 8 and a size 20'.

Looking at it, now crumpled on the table, obliterating the till, phone, a copy of Heat magazine and a sandwich she'd been eating, I said that I thought they'd got the sizing wrong, and that by the looks of it you could have got somewhere between 8 and 20 people inside the jumper at the same time.  Perhaps that's what they'd meant.

'Well have a look around, you might find something else you like', she suggested.

And I did find something.  A grey V-neck with silver ducks on it (sounds vile, but it looked lovely on).  Bringing it out of the changing room, she asked me whether it was for Christmas Jumper Day (Friday 15th December, in case you're curious).  'That wouldn't work', I said, 'they're ducks.  Mind you, I could tell everyone they are short turkeys, and then I might get away with it'.

As she wrapped it up and took my money, I asked her what size the jumper was.

'One size', she said, handing me the bag.

I didn't know whether to laugh, cry or change my mind...


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