There might be lucky people living on this planet who actually enjoy buying pants. I haven’t met them, though, and I’m not one of them. The entire process of choosing pants, trying them on, and then paying for them puts me in a vile mood.
So I have developed a psychological mechanism of alleviating the suffering that accompanies the act of pant-buying. I usually get a pair of pants that is guaranteed to be too big for me and try them on first. After that, I emerge from the fitting room and proudly announce, “These are too big! Can I have them in a smaller size?”
The strategy usually works great. Today, however, it backfired. I wear size 14, so I grabbed a pair of pants in size 16 and happily headed towards the fitting room, imagining how glad I will be to discover the unsurprising news that they are too big for me.
Imagine my horror when I discovered that I could barely drag these size 16 pants past my knees. The humiliation I experienced was intense. Thank God in heaven I had enough presence of mind left to examine the pants carefully. When I did that, I discovered that a cruelly careless store assistant had placed size 6 pants on the size 16 hanger.
I did end up buying two very nice (and extremely cheap) pairs of pants. But the trauma that this unfortunate mistake caused me is still with me.

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