Just before Christmas this past year, I bought two sexy little spencers. (A spencer, for those of you who aren’t familiar with the term, is a tiny, cropped, jacket-like top girls wear over tank tops. It cuts just under the bust line and may or may not meet over the navel with a button or snap.)

Two sexy little spencers that did *not* close at their respective buttons. The sales girls watching me try on these spencers assured me a spencer was not required to close. They suggested I buy the size that fit across the shoulders and wear it open. Even if it didn’t close, it still accomplished its purpose, which in my case was to draw attention away from my shoulders and focus it on the middle of my chest while smoothing out the hour glass line of my waist.

So I did, and I wore them, proud I’d finally defeated the fashion god who strove to keep me out of such trendy accessories by refusing to make them in my size.

And then today, after months of letting them hang in my closet because it was simply too cold to wear them, I took one out. Put it on. Realized…hey…I think the button over here actually might just reach the hole over there.

With baited breath, I brought the two ends together and…

The girls lied. These particularly cut jackets were definitely meant to close.

So if you’re wondering why I missed the book signing tonight, it’s because I decided this is a gain I’d like to keep. It’s a workout day. Next stop: bikini?