the fitting room

i feel i was not made to fit anyone.
i am standing in the mirror, modeling a new rust blouse with beading and lace.  the way it slims my waist, and the subtle attention it draws to my bust, make it my new happy thought. but upon closer inspection, it pulls. my broad shoulders stretch the elegant beading and i am resolute to strip away the near-perfection for a larger size.
once the grande blouse fits my shoulders, the waist and bust hang in an oh-so-unflattering way. i recline into remorse as i replace the hanger upon the rack, knowing it cannot be mine.
because it was not made for me. i am waiting for a better fit. 

with clothing it is simple. you blame the idiotic fashion designer for making such irresponsible concoctions of clothing to be worn by real human beings-- the cut was disastrous, that patterned fabric was heinous, that size could only fit a barbie doll... and so forth.

rarely do you blame your body. rarely do you believe you must conform to that blouse, because there are other blouses lining the walls for you to examine and perhaps even wear.  i don't do such ridiculous thought patterns of blaming my legs or ribcage or wrists in the dressing room.

but i blame my self 

after every failed fitting room experience 

with men. 

which brings me to my opening statement-- i feel i was not made to fit. anyone.

perhaps it is ridiculous. perhaps it is illogical. and perhaps it is absurdely untrue.
but i feel that no matter how many men i try on, i will never come closer to the ultimate fit, and they will eventually leave my room to rest more perfectly on someone else's shoulders. when i see that man with another, matching her every move, it wrestles me into a despair that no one can fit me in the way i need. 

how do you know who fits you? is any of this trying-on business worth the hassle? 

in my opinion, it's an awful big mess of hangers i'm making to find just one blouse.