Sunday, April 28, 2013

dressing room panic attack

I needed a dress for an upcoming event and found 2 wonderful dresses up the street at a nearby vintage store. This vintage store is so large, after an hour of going through it we had only covered about a third of the store. I had more selection then I could have ever planned on!


This store has an interesting business model; the store is the size of a large grocery store and is partitioned off into several small vignettes. Each partitioned area belongs to a differed vendor, so each area is an organized jumble of household items, decor and clothing.


I had found one or two things in each of the 10 or 12 spaces I visited, and after about an hour I had an armload of dresses to try on. I also was starting to feel shopping burn-out and sure one of those had to be *the* one for the event. I made my way over to the dressing rooms to begin the process of elimination.


The dressing rooms are in a very central location, and consist of a partitioned off area vaguely blocked by a short, billowy curtain. I am sure if someone tried they could see what was going on inside but I didn't care. I had a lot of dresses to try on and wanted to move the selection process along. Many dresses didn't make the final cut and there was one specific dress that was deceptively small. It was a one piece that didn't have any zippers, fasteners, buttons...it seemed that the best way to put to put this dress on was on over the head. In the spirit of hurrying I got it over my head, arms in the long sleeves, neck hole over my chest aaaaannnndddd....stuck. I was stuck and my arms were totally trapped in this fashion nightmare of a straightjacket. They were bound and positioned in an uncomfortable way that made me look like a t-rex giving a perpetual double hi-five. I tried to tug on the dress but there was just no getting it back up and over my chest. This is one of the few times the only time in my entire life that an A cup was too big for something. I started to freak out a little and while flailing around I heard the ominous sound of stressed fabric ripping.

Luckily I brought Ric, my fashion advisor, who was nearby to assist with the dress selection process. Anxiety had tipped the scale of modesty in favor of escaping the dress, and I shamelessly stepped out of the dressing room to ask for assistance. A smirk blossomed on Ric's face when he saw the predicament I was in. He obligingly stepped into the dressing room with me and helped me carefully remove the dress. Crisis averted! I was imagining that the staff there would have to cut it off of me.

Despite the dressing room panic attack, the shopping trip was not all for naught; I ended up getting two spectacular dresses for a mere $26.


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