Vapid, adj.: Lacking liveliness, animation, or interest

Apparently, I start work on Monday. I called the HR department and the HR rep has been frantically busy so she gave me one of those, "I was just about to call you" kind of lines, and I found that irritating, because although we had tentatively said that I might start next week, nothing had been confirmed, and apparently still nobody knows what my hours will be and my new boss was working at home today and the HR rep didn't have her phone number so blah blah blah, well, just show up Monday at 9 AM and let's take it from there.

It's all very odd. I did an inventory of my clothes yesterday, and found that I am still lacking in "office-type" things to wear -- in fact, I do still need to buy shoes, definitely -- but I think I can manage for the first week or so with what I have. The issue here is that I actually weigh less now than I did before I had Viva, which was the last time I needed to wear office-type clothes. I weigh about ten pounds less than before, and thus some of my clothes are really ridiculously baggy. I was already quite petite before: I am almost but not quite five feet and one inch tall, and I am very small-boned. Until recently, I sometimes ended up buying clothes (mainly T-shirts and sweatpants/yoga pants) in the kids' section of clothing stores like Gap and Old Navy. Even so, sometimes they fit, and sometimes not. But now I have to buy grown-up clothes, and there's the rub.

I found myself recently in the petites' section of Banana Republic, trying on a suit, and the pants were too long. IN THE PETITES' SECTION. Lawd, help me, Jeebus.* I went shopping again yesterday and spent some time at Ann Taylor Loft -- I tried on about twenty pieces of clothing, and only three fit.

"Am I shrinking?" I said to Sweet William. "Because now I'm wearing the same size suit I wore when I interviewed at colleges, way back in the day."

I don't think I'm shrinking. I think the damn retailers are doing the damn vanity sizing, so people who are actually a size 12 think they wear a size 8. And the retailers do not adhere to a standardized size, so you might wear a 4 in one brand, or a 0 in another. I love clothes, but I'm beginning to hate shopping. (I can't believe I just typed that.)

I know, this has to be one of my most fluffy posts ever, but some days are like that.

Edited to add: I am not the only one having problems in this area. The Happy Feminist writes about "dressing room distress," linking to other bloggers in the process, and brings up one of my frequent complaints in regard to women's versus men's clothing: men only need to know their inseam and their waistband, and they can walk into any store, pick up a pair of jeans, pay for them, and walk out. Here is where I'd like a little gender equality. Why does buying jeans have to suck so much** for women?

* A Google search for Jeebus reveals not just the disputed origin of the word, but also an absolutely friggin' fantastic GenX congregation for "those who don't always have a clear picture of who Jesus is." HOT!

** I also tried on jeans at Banana Republic. They all looked like ass. And not in a good way.