The Scrubs Revelation

Retail fate has a strange sense of humour. It waits until you feel hopeful. Then it unveils the truth. Your size survived the rush, but only in a shade that belongs in a ward, not a wardrobe.

The Annoyance

You enter the shop. You check the rack. Your pulse rises. The size tag matches your physical form. Then the colour hits your eyes. It carries the exact emotional temperature of antiseptic wipes.

You stand there. Staring. Wondering who you angered.

The Absurd Diagnosis

Condition: Chromatic Misfortune Syndrome.

Symptoms include

moral conflict,

fabric-based shame,

and a sudden urge to apologise to strangers for what you are holding.

This disorder manifests when the universe withholds aesthetic dignity but allows sizing accuracy. A cruel balance.

A Low-Key Cure

Step away from the rack. Let the garment sit alone. It knows what it did.

Breathe once. Then find a mirror. Look at your face. If you already seem mildly unwell, the colour will finish the job. That is your sign to leave.

The Witty Insight

Scarcity is a joke with no punchline. Retail algorithms sense your desire and serve you the one option that feels medicinal. The universe is in on it.

Conclusion

Your size will return in a shade that respects your cardiovascular system. Until then, take this as a harmless omen. The world is strange, but at least you noticed.