A conversation with my super's sister

The Roommate was in Cleveland this past weekend, so I was on cleaning and cooking duty for the Sunday night dinner party.

I have a push cart that I could theoretically take with me when I leave the house to run errands. I just never do. As a result, I often return to my apartment weighed down with multiple bags. The ingredients for Sunday dinner – baked ziti with spicy sausage, salad and toasted French bread with white bean pate – were especially heavy, what will all the cans and jars and whatnot. I also had kitty litter and a bottle of wine.

I entered my apartment building, and was about to walk into the elevator when I was accosted by my super's sister.

"I have clothes for sale. Very nice. Good condition. You come look?"

I'm going to be honest. The last thing I wanted to do was go look at my super's sister's clothing for sale. But she's a lovely woman and I have a hard time saying no, so I went.

I didn't want to put my bags down on her white carpet, and she didn't make any suggestions about where to put them. So I held them. All four of them, pulling me groundward a little more every second. She had a raincoat I didn't particularly care for, a suit jacket, a pair of boots and some pants. I actually liked the boots, but they were size nine and a half and I'm a seven and a half. Then she held up the pants, which looked too big for me as well.

"You and me. We same size?" She motioned back and forth between the two of us.

"What size are they?" They were a ten.

"No, they're not my size." She looked at me suspiciously.

"What size?" She pointed at me.

"A six or an eight."

"No, no, no. These fit you. You want to take upstairs and try on?"

"Oh, no. No. Thank you."

I told her she should put a sign up in the lobby, and she said that was a good idea. She told me to come back if I changed my mind. I left the apartment, arms aching, and wondering if I really do look significantly larger than I am, even when I'm wearing a tight t-shirt and ass pants.