I had a vision while I was in a dressing room at a thrift store earlier today. The dress I was trying on for size fit …per say. It was small around the arms, but everywhere else it was adorable! However, I knew there was going to be trouble on the way back out of the damn thing when I was squeezing my arms into the proper position to make the look work. You don’t understand, it was a very cute dress. Anyway, I got the dress on easily enough (just a hint of what was to come had been seen). I took it out for a turn on the catwalk that is the dressing room hallway and got unanimous approval of how good an idea it was that I had picked this dress up. By unanimous, I mean myself and my fella. I have a great deal of trust when it comes to fashion opinions regarding both of these people.
I strut back to the fitting room happy with the selection. The arms don’t look or feel bad when adjusted in place, the dress actually feels great. It’s as if Florence Henderson had a dress that could actually breath because it wasn’t synthetic. Here comes the real test. I have the disadvantage of having a hat on my head due to a rather unfortunate hair day that has to come off. I proceed to raise my arms up over my head for the pull-it-straight-off approach. This is not done as thoroughly or gracefully as it should have, for my left arm is still sore and bulky in a brace.
There I stand …my hair in Buckwheat disarray …arms crookedly struggling to reach in a straight line …swinging my torso from side to side. I think I figured it would give a little more in the awkwardly restrictive shoulder area as I wiggle out of this, um, very cute dress. I won’t even get into the panicky complications by the fact that I consumed way too much water beforehand. This is when the vision occurred to me. I all of a sudden slowed down my struggles and thought about worst case scenarios getting out of this dress so that I could find a bathroom and go home. I all of a sudden saw myself getting cut out of the dress with scissors by one of the sales girls in the fitting room and then having to pay for the two halves of a really cute dress. The very best part being that immediately I would go down in that store’s history as a customer urban legend. “Oh my God, I just had to go in the fitting room with a pair of scissors and literally cut this girl out of one of our dresses …she had unhinged hair, was reaching for the sky like it was a stick up …and I think she was performing a pee-pee dance….you had to be there…seriously…” **laughter ensues as they call over their manager and re-tell the story and have another laugh** Then a new-hire hears about it in a month’s time and the story lives on. You think I’m exaggerating, I’ve worked customer service since I could get a job. These things happen, and the employees live to laugh and re-tell it …and laugh again. Hell, I couldn’t help but laugh at myself in the midst of all this squirming. I really like this shop for all of my bargain hunting needs, it would have been a great inconvenience to have mortified myself there. Seriously, there’s no way to really make more of a joke out of something like that. When someone is cutting you out of a dress in such a state …do you shrug and go ” ha ha… I’m stuck! Could you do me a solid and not mock me to my death so I can come here without too much hassle to my self esteem? …So how’s your weekend?” No, because I wasn’t in the position to shrug …the shoulders being the problem area and all. Luckily, the whole thing remained an amusing scenario in my head for those few nerve wracking minutes in the fitting room. Once I relaxed and took it slow, the dress slid off. I proceeded to get dressed and put my hat back in its rightful position on my head. Crisis averted.
Oh, and I got the dress. It’s really cute.