NICE PAJAMAS FOR SMALL WOMEN

I have to wonder: do the folks at Macy's and other stores just assume that all women are enormous?
Is there a law out there that insists that if a woman does not have a monstrous booty she must sleep nude?

While personally I have no problem with covering up the hairy mastodon women and hiding them from friends and family, I am amazed and not a little appalled that the only pajamas that Macy's sells are 'Medium', 'Large', 'Extra Large', and 'Killer Whale'.
What's even worse is that they've confused 'sleepwear' with 'slutwear'.
Yes, half of the females in the Bay Area seem to prefer that latter category of clothing at all times (and we should be grateful that they do not parade around in their sleepwear), but all I want is some nice happy jammies.
You know, comfy flannel with little frogs or sheep patterns.

It's not for me. It's for my roommate. She needs something nice.

I am also disturbed by the fact that pajamas are in the lingerie department.
Mind you, I like lingerie. Really I do.
That is, I used to.
That was before the lingerie department started catering to the same people who have confused sleepwear with slutwear. Very large sluts. Enormous.
Since when did the women in this city develop hooters the size of a regulation basketball? And if they are that large, little scraps of frilly material ain't gonna hold 'em.
Ripping lace is such a sad sound.

WHERE DID ALL THE NICE GARMENTS GO?

Yes, I know that women ELSEWHERE in this country are elephantine, built like bovine sasquatch. Probably because of the huge mounds of deepfried cow-behind and barbecue sauce covered lard-o-melts that they consume, as well as the growth hormones in the groundwater of cattle country.
But this is San Francisco. Women are more health conscious here. And there are ladies living in the city whose foodculture does not include using frozen pizza as a taco shell, deep frying it, and loading that monster up with ground fatty beef, processed cheese, sour cream, bacon, and guacamole.

Enough for the whole family in SF is a mere snack elsewhere.

My roommate is a small person. Thin, with fine bones. No, I haven't seen her in lingerie in years.
We're no longer a couple, and we no longer expose ourselves to each other.
And while I fondly remember the visual excitement of the past, such things are not part of the present program.
She simply needs something warm and comfy to watch teevee in. Something with dancing kangaroos or partying bunny rabbits, for instance.
Not something built for big lard buts and sixteen pound bowling balls.

I'm still searching. It's important. Must find something.

I also need to find someone who will wear lingerie at me.
But that's an entirely different search.
Though no less important.
Fine silk things.
Petite.


Little frogs. Drowsy sheep. Dancing kangaroos. Drunken rabbits.


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