It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon in the fall, and I went out for a nice, relaxing day of shopping. No husband, no kids, just me and my credit card. Ahhhh, so nice to get out and do something nice for me. I don't have to pick anything up for anyone else, I can be selfish and pick out a few nice things just for myself. Husband had plenty of socks and under-thingies, kids had been out shopping the week before and I didn't have to take out a second mortgage on the house, so I did what any red-blooded American mom would do. I went shopping. For myself.
I strolled around the store, browsing. Such pretty things on the racks. I pulled out a few nice looking blouses, a few pairs of pants and this adorable dress that would've been perfect for my nephew's wedding the following month. I took my haul into the dressing room, dropped trou and began trying things on.
And that's when the misery started.
The pants were too tight. When the hell did that happen?? Shopping by yourself is great, don't get me wrong, but it's also nice to have a minion around in such cases where you love the pants but hate the fit and need another pair (in a goddamn bigger size). So I took them off and hung them up and then put them on the "sorry clothes, you're not coming home with me today" hook. It's a sad hook, really.
After being disgusted by the next several pieces I tried on, and putting them all on the 'No effing way' hook, I got to the dress. It was adorable. It was a tea-length, long-sleeve number that you pulled over your head and zipped up the back. It was somewhat sheer at the top but not in a tasteless, 'leave nothing to the imagination, you look like a two-bit hooker' sheer. Just above the hooters. From the hooters down it was dark green velvet with shimmery gold thingies woven into the fabric. So pretty. I took it off the hanger, unzipped it and put that bad boy right over my head and pulled it down.
With only a little bit of a struggle.
I was able to zip it up about halfway because I don't have extra long monkey arms. And when I looked at myself in the mirror, in this adorable dress, I frowned. It looked so much prettier on the hanger.
There was a quote from a comedian that my husband and I will use sometimes:
Woman: "This doesn't look like much on the hanger but it looks so much better on"
Man: "On what? On fire?"
Sadly, I wasn't going to buy that dress that day, because it just wasn't working for me. So I moved my non-monkey arms to the back and attempted to unzip it. And it got stuck. That's when panic started to creep up on my. I began to sweat. Then I began talking to myself. "Oh God no, don't start sweating, dumbass, you'll NEVER get it off if your body's tacky with sweat." And yes, it was out loud. That's how I roll. Sweaty and chatty in a dressing room, trapped in a dress.
When you're sweaty and wearing something tight, then you try to take off that tight thing, that tight thing doesn't want to work its way off of sweaty skin. It wants to stay on you. It mocks you. It laughs at you. It says "Sorry fat ass, you're not getting rid of me that easily. This is fun!" The more I moved, the stronger the hold the dress had on me. I tried to work my arms out of the sleeves but the dress was having none of it. My arms were stuck in something equivalent to Chinese finger traps.
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| Photo courtesy: OrientalTrading.com |
It was then that I heard someone entering the dressing room. And I did what any mature, grown woman would do. I shouted "Can you help me????" at the top of my lungs. I said "I swear to God I'm not some psychopath pervert, but the zipper is stuck and I can't get out of my dress!" Thank goodness the lady didn't turn and run out of the dressing room and call the cops. Instead, I opened the door and turned my back to her and she was able to release me from the jaws of death. (shut up, that's what it felt like at the time). I thanked her profusely and may have even offered my kids' babysitting services, I didn't care, I was just thrilled to be free from the monster.
I sat down for a few minutes to allow my sweaty body to dry off a bit and was finally able to get the dress over my head and pull my arms out of the sleeves. I hung the dress back on the hanger, still a little damp from my sweat and put it on the 'I wouldn't buy you if you were the last dress on the planet' hook. I put my clothes back on, gave the dress the finger and headed out of the store.
Then I went to Dairy Queen for some Blizzard therapy.
