I took a part-time job at one of the evil conglomerate big-box retailers, so I fold clothes and hang clothes and do all sorts of menial schlepping a few hours a week. Stop laughing, it will pay for Christmas.
I'm not the sort who tries on clothes before I buy them. I know my size, I only wear cotton because everything else is itchy and sweaty, and I mostly wear black and gray. Unless it's an expensive shop and it's formal attire, I don't try it on. But the rest of you out there, you lug armfulls of clothing to the fitting room, unfold it, take it off the hanger, sweat in it, get your deodorant all over it, rip the tags off it, and then leave it in a pile on the bench.
Schlubs like me pick up said piles, refold, rehang, retag, and send the stained stuff back to the "damages" area in the stock room. (In the evil conglomerate big-box retailer, this is fun because there's usually a container of candy from opened packages somewhere back with all the broken stuff; you get your Arrid X-tra Dry all over the size 38D bra you tried to squeeze yourself in to, you heifer, and I get an Atomic Fireball.) In dealing with these piles of retail offal, I've noticed something that may be important: you're all cheap, and you're all fatter than you think you are.
I pick up and put away a lot of clearance clothing. Right now all the clearance clothing at my particular evil conglomerate big-box retailer is $1.99. Really, two bucks. You really need to fit something on that costs two bucks? Really? Give me a break; buy it take it home, if you don't like it or it doesn't fit, give it to the Salvation Army.
Here's what I spend most of the time refolding or rehanging: JEANS. Specifically, women's jeans misses' sizes 16-18. When I find them, they're generally in great disarray; unbuttoned, unzipped, one leg inside out, and I'm not sure, but I suspect a mite tear-stained. Ditto for size XL or 14/16 shirts, blouses, sweaters, and blazers. Piles of the largest sizes in the misses' department, all inside out, wadded up, and tossed on the floor in what I can only assume was a fit of rage.
I know why; no one wants to admit when it's time to give up the ghost and waddle on over to the PLUS department. I know, ladies; I was there myself at one time, and it's one of the most difficult things one must do. It's time, though; those size 18 misses jeans just aren't going to zip. You are not going to get them up past your thighs, and wadding them up on a ball and agrily shoving them back in to the back of the Lee jeans display is NOT going to change that.
The ones you need, the ones with the capital 'W' after the size which have room for your big butt and will accommodate your gunt, are over there on the other side of the wall. Hey, I'm not judging you. I'm just tired of picking up after your angry changing room tantrums so I think it's time someone told you the truth.
Look at the positive side; perhaps you can go join Weight Watchers or head off to Jenny Craig with Valerie Bertinelli and burn off some of that blubber. Then you, too, can go back to the "Not Fat" department for your jeans, rubbing your fat friends faces in it. When they're all discussing the sales at Lane Bryant or asking who got the coupons, you can say "I don't need to shop there."
Then you can laugh maniacally, revelling in your schadenfreude.
Also, a junior's size 'XL' is like a misses' medium or large. Juniors are for teenagers, most of whom have smaller breasts and hips. They are not for middle-age women, in style or in cut, even for those who are relatively trim. Seriously, you look silly trying to squeeze your mom-hips in to those skinny jeans; knock it off. More importantly, stop leaving them in a wad on the dressing room floor.