My lovely late MIL had a weird thing about being slim. Or rather, about wearing a small dress size. Regardless of whether the dress actually fit! Like this:
MIL offered me a dress which didn't fit any of my SILs and invited me upstairs to try it on. I took one look at it and declared that it was far too small so there was no point trying it on. She said it was my size. "Hm. What size is it?" I asked suspiciously. "Ohhh... what size are you?" she replied evasively. "Sixteen," I said. "Yes," she said, "that's what size it is." 😂
Though I had an inkling she was fibbing, I agreed to humour her and try it on. Pencil dress with long sleeves which zipped up the back from the waist. I stepped in. We - she was assisting - were already in difficulties as it passed my knees. I protested. "No, we'll get it on!" she said cheerfully as she heaved it upwards.
When it came time to do up the zip, she called to one of my SILs to help hold the dress shut while she pulled the zip up. I was in fits of laughter by this stage, and told her to stop so we wouldn't ruin the dress. But SIL told me resistance was futile 😂and I submitted.
Damned if that determined woman didn't manage to do the dress up all the way! However, I could not breathe, or bend at the waist, or move my arms, which were also tightly stuffed into the sleeves. Nor could I walk except with teeny weeny little mincing steps, since my upper legs were effectively bound together. It was hilarious. Then I began to get claustrophobic, especially when I discovered she wanted to take a photo. I could only imagine how I looked. SIL helped me escape from the dress.
I looked at the label and pointed out it was a size four!!! MIL said, "Yes, and aren't you proud that you fit into a size four?" Then she went downstairs to brag to the extended family about how her son's new wife had been wearing a size four dress. Makes me laugh every time I remember it.