Umm…Excuse me? Miss Fitting Room Attendant? Miss Fitting Room Attendant whose job it is to pay attention when I walk up to you? I have twenty-nine dresses here.
Yes, I know that there is a six item limit. That’s why I’m telling you that I have more than the limit. So that you can make some room on your handy-dandy dress rack right there. How much do they pay you? Minimum wage? That’s shocking.
Thanks, yes, I’ll just walk right this way. To the place that says “Dressing Room.” Got it.
Why is there a large mirror down this aisle of dressing rooms, but not that aisle? Women on that side must not want to actually see what they look like in what they are trying on. Which makes perfect sense. Sometimes I put something on and think, “Well, it zips all the way up, so that’s a winner!”
But not today. Today, there are standards.
Must cover bra straps. Must cover booty. Must be cool enough to wear in the summer, but not fly up in a sudden gust of wind, exposing what would probably be my ugliest underwear. Must not give any relatives cause to even begin a sentence with “Well, now…” because that actually means “She’ll never get a husband with back fat like that.”
Let’s start with this one, shall we? It looks mediocre, which will provide an adequate base to judge the others. Not getting our hopes up is the name of the game.
It’s on. And it’s off. Good first try, but looking like a pregnant farm hand isn’t going to fly. This isn’t a maternity dress, right? Nope, just cut to make my stomach look like I swallowed a watermelon. Shame. It had a nice breeze to it…
Oh. My. God. Is that a pimple? That massive, makeup encrusted bulge of pus? That’s disgusting.
I should pop it! But wait, will anyone notice the huge red marks left behind by my nails? Of course they won’t! They’ll be too busy looking at my unibrow! Which is all too visible in this lovely fluorescent lighting. I really need to prepare better for shopping. Not that it would matter; I couldn’t see that lovely bit of acne or those stray eyebrow hairs in the mirror at home, so I wouldn’t have fixed them anyway.
But I could have changed my shoes after work. Ugh. These are gross; they smell like an animal died in them, which doesn’t say good things about my feet. A possum, maybe. Or is it opossum?
Pedicure. Add that to the checklist.
How many dresses are we through now? Five? Oh good, time to go talk to my biffel out by the door.
Ummm…excuse me? Miss Fitting Room Attendant? The same Miss Fitting Room Attendant who ignored me last time and is ignoring me again? Yes, it’s me. Your customer. I’d like several of my other dresses now. Dresses. You know. The ones with no pants. Thank you so much. My appreciation knows no bounds.
Why don’t they give more hooks in these rooms? Don’t they know that there’s a system to this? Pile One is made of dresses that haven’t been tried on yet. Pile Two is definitely NO. Pile Three is Yes/Depends on what else I find/Need to decide if it’s worth paying that much/Just want something in this pile to make me feel better about myself.
Maybe this one!
…Well hey there, boobs. Are you supposed to be on top of the dress like that? I didn’t think so.
…Too short. I’ll look like I’m ready to walk the corner and get paid in ramen noodles. Scratch that. Men who only eat ramen noodles wouldn’t be willing to give them up, not even for a hooker…Too long. And covered. And…itchy. Oh God, is it supposed to poke my armpit like that? I’m going to look like I live on a compound and have fleas…Too yellow. Jaundice isn’t in style this summer…Too…just too. Take it off. To the rack!
Oh boy! A new Miss Fitting Room Attendant!
Wait, where are my dresses? They were hanging right here. No, I gave my extra dresses to the last girl because I had more than the six item limit. And she, being reasonably competent, put them on the rack next to the dressing room so that I could switch them out. Like many women do.
You put them back? Seriously? No, it’s not ok, and it doesn’t happen all the time. Reality isn’t a commercial for male sexual issues. Don’t worry, I see them. I’ll go pick them all out again because I know how to keep track of clothing that doesn’t belong back on the racks of the store.
Never mind. I’m done. Yeah, I want these two but not these four. That adds up to six. The number that I’m allowed to bring in the dressing room with me. Because I can do basic math and you can’t perform all of the job duties of a fitting room attendant.
Oh, sorry. Did I say that out loud?
And now, to the shoes!