Wondering through the racks of clothes, I see very little that I like. Everything is covered in ruffles. I am not a ruffle girl. But, regardless, I find a couple things that I think are cute. I grab a few different sizes and head over to the dressing rooms...which are closed for cleaning. Fabulous. Because I want to walk farther to find the portals of hell.
I mosey on over to the other dressing rooms in the store, make sure that the door is locked, and set up the dressing room. I don't know about you, but I get disappointed if it has less than three hooks. At lease one for "yes', "no", and "not yet tried on". This one had two. Off to a fantastic start!
Standing back, I look at the clothes and try and decide how much I hate myself. I decide that full on self loathing is the way to start and grab a pair of capris.
Slowly, I slide in front of the mirror and....GREAT GOOGLY MOOGLY!
|Except I was not doing a merry little jig.|
I put them back on the hanger and throw them on the bench - aka the "Hell No pile".
I reach for the other pair of capris because, my friends, I really hate myself. I put them on and stand in front of the mirror.
|These, Ladies and Gentlemen, are what my legs resembled.|
I shimmy out of those in a big, big hurry. Okay. Time to grab the dress I picked up. It's purple and loose and should pose no immediate problems...
|Honestly? I wasn't even surprised at this point.|
I reach for a halter top. Now. In this universe, this should be adorable on me. It has the right cut, the seams are all in the right places. Maybe, maybe, this will be my salvation. Not paying any attention, I grab the smaller of the two.
Big mistake. Big. Huge.
I put it on and notice that it's a little...snug. And that someone has zipped part of its belt into itself. Fan-freaking-fabulous. I wrestle it down, tie it behind my neck try to zip it down and...no. It's not happening. This just keeps getting better and better! Alrighty. Time to take this monstrosity off.
Just unzip this, untie that and voila...it's not moving. Fine. Don't freak out, I tell myself, You got yourself in this, it has to come off.
Gathering myself, I hold one arm straight up and use the other arm to jerk it up. It moves, maybe, a fraction of a millimeter if I'm being generous. Perhaps, I reason, maybe I should stick my arms inside the shirt and try to shrug it off that way. I discover that, no, no this is not way this should be done. Because now - now I resemble Gus from Cinderella.
|Only, I wasn't nearly so adorable|
I am now frantically praying that parts of my anatomy will shrink to a more prepubescent stage. Finally, through a combination of twisting, turning, and sheer will I force the stupid thing off.
I don't even want to try on the larger size.
I walk out, put the clothes on the helpful rack (supposedly) by the exit.
And promptly walk into another dressing room.
I hate trying on clothes.