The Devil is in the Details

I recently received a gift card to the local running store, so I stopped by today to do a little shopping.

Since I am in desperate need of new...um...appropriate running undergarments, I headed straight to that section. Said undergarments come in two-letter options like, for example: H/I, J/K, or L/M/N/O/P. Rest assured, every female bear past puberty and finished with childbearing is relatively familiar with what letter category they fall in. In keeping with my example above (and to save a wee bit of my dignity...) let's say I'm pretty darn sure I fall into the H/I category, and keep moving, 'k?

So, I pull the first H/I undergarment I see off the rack and head to the changing room. I try to pull it over my head and realize there is no way on God's green earth that thing is making it over my elbows, much less my head, shoulders, and...well...you know.

Hmm. That's weird? Maybe the sizing is different (they are made in a foreign land with wee little people, ya know)? I guess I'll go up to the J/K size, then?

Emboldened by this new, interesting size development, I throw all my clothes back on, and sashay back to the undergarment rack where I then pick up the first J/K undergarment I see on the rack and sashay back to the dressing room. I then proceed to try on this undergarment, certain that it will do the trick.

I successfully managed to get this one over my elbows, shoulders and then such. But not without a lot of....grunting. I looked in the mirror and thought that perhaps the undergarment hadn't landed exactly right the first time because I was seeing WAY more bulges than I thought appropriate. So I wriggled, twisted, stuffed, and grunted a little more until I felt certain everything was in its correct place. And yet, the bulging still persisted. I also noticed that I was having a more difficult time than usual breathing.

Hmm..The label did say "high impact." I wonder if it's tighter because of that? I'm not sure I'll need to test this thing with the "jump-up-and-down" testing method. I'm pretty sure no motion is allowed in this sucker. Nope. Not even breathing. Oh dear...the room....is....starting...to go....dark. Ah! I've gotta get this thing OFF OF ME!!!!

Panicked by my need for oxygen, I started to claw away in an attempt to extricate myself from the undergarment of death. No go. I realized the lack of oxygen was making me stressed, so I calmed myself down and tried again. Nada. I bent over and wriggled. I stood up and jiggled. I crossed my arms and tugged. I even tried the hokey pokey. Nothin'.

Oh, Dear Jesus. Please don't let me be caught in this thing! Please, please, please, don't make me have to call that twelve year old anorexic skinny running store employee back here to help me. It's not going to happen. I'll stay in here until this place closes down. Seriously, help a fluffy bear out, would ya? The oxygen depravation is getting to me. I'm starting to see the light. Oh, please, for the love of all things holy, do not let me get stuck in this undergarment forever and be forced to die here and my family have to bear the shame of their Mama Bear dying in the dressing room of a running store. PLEASE GET ME OUTTA THIS THING!!!!

It was time to go MacGyver on things. So while inhaling what precious little oxygen I could get, I threw one arm over my shoulder and grabbed the elbow of that arm with my other hand. I then pushed down on that elbow with all my might, and was able to grasp the back edge of the undergarment. I then pulled with more might than one should (considering the garment was not yet purchased and cost more than a Papa Murphy's dinner for my entire family) and grunted with the force of a weightlifter. This allowed me to free one shoulder blade. I stood firm and repeated the exercise on the other side and freed the second shoulder blade. I then bent over, threw my arms over my back and, on the second try, grasped the tiniest edge of the undergarment with the tips of my fingers and yanked on that sucker with the last bit of life I had in me. When it successfully came flying over my head I swear I heard angels singing. I SWEAR IT!

Well now. I'm glad that's over! Someone needs to tell these folks that the sizing is WAAAY off on these! I'm lucky I didn't die in here. All alone. In my skivvies and a too-tight running undergarment. The horror. Certainly someone has told them about this problem??

I reveled in the oxygen euphoria for a moment and then put on all my clothing, grabbed the undergarment, and marched myself up to the front to give the twelve year old anorexic skinny running store employee a big chunk of my mind.

Excuse me, m'am. But, I just tried on these 2 undergarments, and there is definitely something wrong with the sizing on these. I mean, I KNOW I'm a size H/I, but I couldn't even get that one over my head. So I went up a size to the J/K which, let's be honest, is really pushing the boundaries of reality, and pretty much got stuck in it for the last 10 minutes. Are you certain these are labeled right???

The twelve year old anorexic skinny running store employee was kind enough to take me back to the rack of undergarments in question. She then asked me what I thought was a very weird question. She said, "Well, what size do you need?"

Uh. I just told you this. H/I is really my go-to size.

"No. I mean, what size. You see here? There's a size for each letter. Extra Small H/I, Small H/I, Medium H/I, and Large H/I and so on. What size were you trying on?"

Mumble. Mumble...looks more closely at undergarment tag....mumble..seems I tried on extra small...mumbles....sigh.

So, heed this warning CyberBears. READ THOSE LABELS CAREFULLY. You can truly never be too careful these days. Else you find yourself dead in a running store dressing room.

Or worse, living to tell the story to the entire internets while icing your dislocated shoulder and broken rib and holding your brand new size LARGE H/I undergarment.