Anyone who knows me and who is not aware of the precipitous fall in women's clothing sizes, would be shocked by the fact that I recently wore a sleek black pants suit, SIZE 2. It sounds impressive, but it's not.  Trust me, I know my naked body.  Decades ago, prior to giving birth to a 9 pound, 12 oz. baby, when I was slim, I was wearing a size 12, straight off the K-Mart rack.  Had I been able to afford a nice dress at Mays of Michigan, it would have been an 8. But today, for no extra charge, I can be a 2 with a $20 purchase at Wal-Mart (though my nice sleek suit was purchased elsewhere). Nancy Gibbs, in an essay titled "the Cost of Candor" (February 28, 2011, TIME), echoes my long-standing pet peeve:  "I'm not really a size 4. . . . But clothing stores know their customers, so they flatter us, supersizing their sizes until a 4 is as big as an 8 used to be, and we can all sleep better at night, confident that we're slimmer than we were in high school."