Yellow dress update

I finally got a yellow dress, if not the Platonic ideal of a yellow dress, or even a fully yellow dress, for that matter, for a whopping $20 (or nearly four Woody Allen DVDs) at Old Navy. Old Navy is the middle ground between dollar books and covetable Shoes. It's shopping, but it's a bit more like supermarket-shopping than clothes-shopping, but still enough over the threshold that it's more exciting to leave with a bag from there than with one from Key Food.

The only problem with the chain (Old Navy, not Key Food) is that the branches in New York are often out of all the small sizes--the rich might be thin, but all the thin (or just small-all-around) aren't rich. Nor do rich people avoid Old Navy, because Dior doesn't have everything, but I digress. Usually the clothes I want and can afford have already been purchased by a (newly-arrived and thus broke, Estonian, I'd imagine) model my weight but a foot taller, small and extra-small being the catch-alls that they are. Or at least that's why I assume they never have my size.

Luckily there was one of these yellow-ish dresses left in my size. While trying it on, I got to hear an extensive conversation in Hebrew, a mother and 20-something daughter talking about whether a dress made the daughter look shemenah (it did unfortunately, though she was quite thin), and otherwise chatting in a way that gave me the mistaken impression that I'm fluent in Hebrew. The reality is that I understand with reasonable ease café-Hebrew, clothes-shopping Hebrew, and which-direction-is-Soho Hebrew. Anything beyond that becomes kasheh mayod.