Today, when I was shopping online, I ran into you again, Size Zero: I saw a lovely dress that cost only slightly more than I should consider spending on a lovely dress (that's if I had any business whatsoever shopping online, which I didn't). I clicked over to see what sizes were still available, and what do you know? There you were, Size Zero, the last size standing. Acting like you are a size at all.
Let us pause to consider The Zero. Here's what Zero is: nothing. It is the place holder between positive numbers, which signify actual amounts, and negative numbers, which signify--well, in my view, they signify less than nothing, but then what do I know? I'm no Wizard of Numbers--the point is, Zero is a big empty space between something and not-something. Wait, let's try again: the Zero is a big empty space. . . .
there's an empty space in the middle of it, right? Okay: the Zero technically is, as in, it exists, but only conceptually. What is the Zero? It is a blank: it is naught, nil, nullity.
So how can Zero be a Size?
Size Zero, I object to the existence of you: what you really signify, Size Zero, is tiny. Tiny, while I admit it doesn't thrill me in a grown woman, I can accept. There are those of us who are capacious. There are those of us who are middling in size. There are the smalls, and there are the tinies. Fine.
But Size Zero? You are a downright rude notion. I reject you, Size Zero, á la lettre. Size Zero, I mets you dans l'abîme. Size Zero: BOO. That's right, I am saying I do not care for you, Size Zero. No doubt, I am jealous of you. But that will not stop me from taking umbrage, openly. Perhaps you feel the same way about me, but Size Zero: really?
tags: I am not tiny