Most people shop for clothing online now, so getting a good fit is more important than ever. I appreciate the websites that have a good way of doing that because if the clothing doesn’t work out you have to spend $60 send it back to China for your $19 refund. I haven’t done much shopping online because I haven’t done much shopping. My closet is filled with the four or five things I actually wear and piles of things I haven’t worn in ten years but totally might someday.

The first thing I tried to buy online was a bra. They had an elaborate sizing system set up so I was encouraged, because my personal filling comes in elaborate sizes. First was a cartoon of various typical breast arrangements: which looked most like me? Far apart, close together, high, low, round, tubular, flapjack? I checked a box and went on. Weight? Body type? Check check. What brand of bra in my closet fits best and what size is it? Check. Can I take a photo of my breasts straight on? In profile (L, R)? Pressed against a glass coffee table and taken from underneath? While reclining on a fur rug?

Finally a conclusion was reached and I was presented with my correct bra size and a dick pic from my delivery driver. Would I like to save my settings by opening an account with the company using the last six digits of my Social Security number? Sure! That sounds handy.

The whole experience was so satisfying that I ventured into buying pants from a reputable company not based in China. This company too had a system set up to assure correct sizing. What is your height? What is your weight? What is your inseam?

Oo! Oo! I know that one! Your inseam is the exact height of a fence you can climb over without slicing your nuts off (if applicable) or sinking in an inch deep, plus one inch. Oh. They wanted an actual number. All right, check.

How old are you?

Hey, now. This is a little off-putting. One would like to pretend that the height and weight has covered most of the issue, but clearly the company has found that contents may have shifted over time. Which is probably true, but still. I’d like to think my relatively sturdy ass has maintained its profile, but in truth I can see I’m getting closer to the borderline of Mudflap City. But isn’t that why you buy pants? To mold your personal custard into a predetermined attractive container?

There were several ranges of age to check, but the final one was “over 65.” Evidently all the damage has occurred by then, you’re not getting any better, and you’re about to be slotted into stretch pull-ups whether you like it or not.

The very same information could have been obtained if they displayed a variety of produce and asked which best represents your body type: peach, apple, pear, big sack of potatoes.

Well, I was making great progress with the size chart. What brand pants in your closet fits best, and what size are they? There was a choice of four brands. One of which was their brand. Gosh. Seems to me they could save a lot of time right there if you already had their brand.

You could also sort through their jeans by leg shape. Now we’re talking! My leg shape is pretty nice, I’m told. Well-turned ankles, and shapely, as far as they go, which is not very far. (That’s where “petite” comes in. “Petite” does not mean small. It means short. You can stack enough flesh on you to make a whole other person, and as long as it doesn’t get far off the ground, you’re “petite”.)

Turns out they’re not interested in my leg shape although I would have been happy to tell them or even send pictures. They want to know what shape jeans you want. You’ve got your straight-leg, your boot-cut, your “relaxed” (heh), or your boyfriend. My what?

I looked it up. Boyfriend jeans are “slouchy denim pants with a loose fit through the thighs and waist, meant to capture the look a a person borrowing their boyfriend’s worn-in jeans.” You can also order them with Cheeto crumbs and a poop streak.