Boston, Buying Shoes, and Being Pregnant

I went through my Fodor's Boston today. What a cool city! I have wanted to go there for years and it's finally going to happen. It sounds like there are at least ten museums that I want to go to, not to mention Old Ironsides, some historical churches, a blues and jazz place, and the Holocaust memorial.

After being supportive of soccer-playing relatives (it should be "football-playing," if you ask me), Tanya and I proceded to Old Navy, where I bought a three-dollar skirt and some shoes. These shoes are similar to the rocketdogs I've been coveting for several months now, just pointier and not plaid. One thing my mom knows about me: I always seem to buy the wrong size shoes. Either I don't pay too much attention to how they fit while I'm at the store, or I worry too much and get worried and go back and forth about which size is best. Tonight, it was the first scenario. The sevens were too tight, so I grabbed the eights, bought them, and went home. Then I realized that there's about an inch between my toe and the end of the shoe. WHY?

While at Old Navy, I found a darling, gathered scoopneck shirt and decided to try it on. WHOA! It was horrible! It fit wrong in all the wrong (or right?) places. I was horrified at how bad it was. I called to Tanya (in the next stall) with, "This shirt is awful!" Of course, she wanted to see. I didn't want to show her, but I had to ask her about the skirt I had on. I opened the door and saw the scariest look of shock and fear I've ever seen on her face. "It makes me look pregnant!" I said. Later she confided that she was so shocked because she "saw Michelle pregnant!" It wasn't just the flowy bottom part of the shirt, it was the fact that for once Michelle looked chesty in a bad kind of way. The gathers just . . . gathered. I will never buy a gathered scoopneck. Not one that is that gathered, anyway.