Friday, April 23, 2010

Under Where?

The title of this post is proof positive that I spend way too much time with Swells and that her cheese-factor is rubbing off on me. She proudly bears the title "Cheesiest Person I Know," but always reminds me that her mom could out cheese her any day.

I'm going to attempt to make this as modest or the least graphic that I can while still getting my point (if there is such a thing) across. If you're at all averse to talk of underwear - more specifically women's - then please exit now. If you choose to proceed, don't pretend that you were caught off guard.

Last night, instead of walking our (almost) three miles, we did some mall walking. She had a coupon for Vickie's for a free panty and $5 or $15 off of the purchase of one or two bras, respectively. She wanted something free, I thought could possibly put the discount to use, so we were on a mission.

I should mention that bras and bathing suits are the bain of my existence. This is probably due to the fact that neither are fun (for me) to acquire. For this reason, and because I'm such a creature of habit (shocker!), I prefer to stick to the things that I know or am comfortable with. So... you can imagine my frustration when I learned that my tried-and-true bra has been modified and no longer functions the same way that it used to and I have to set about trying things on.

I only found out about said change because the signage wasn't reading the same way I always remembered it. I didn't want to get stuck with something that I ended up not really liking, so I decided to head to the dressing room. (As a side note, I don't really like trying on clothes in the store unless I'm mentally prepared to do so. Getting un- and re-dressed gets old to me. Fast.) When I went in, I was greeted by an employee that asked me my name (odd), how many items I had with me (reasonable), and if I'd like a "complimentary fitting" (people pay for such things?). I gave her my name, said I had two items, and politely declined figuring that this wasn't my first rodeo.

While in the fitting room, I heard a male voice loudly asking a girl what her number was over and over again. It sounded as if they knew each other, not like a "Hey girl, lemme get them digits" type of conversation, but I couldn't see exactly what was going on. I did hear the sales person tell him that they couldn't allow males (or did she say men? either way...) in the fitting room and that he needed to beat it. I thought to myself, interesting concept. Though, if they really wanted to, they could just stand right outside the doorway and look in. However, it would probably become obvious what they were doing rather quickly.

After both pieces, exactly the same style and size, fit completely different from one another (neither working), I started to wave the white flag and deal with this another day, but as I was exitiing the fitting room, the girl Complimentary Fitter caught me and asked how things worked. I told her honestly that neither worked; one was too small, one was weird to me, though they should've been the exact same thing. She asked again if wanted that complimentary fitting. This time, I caved.

I was hoping with all that I had that this would be done inside an actual fitting room, though that didn't happen. I was then turned over to another of Victoria's proteges. She wasted no time whipping out her magic tape measure and wrapping it around me. After the second or third adjustment (and some other chit-chat), she finally said, laughing, "By the way, my name is Monica." That's when I understood the need for the first girl to ask me my name. It seems like less obtrusive if you know the person's name prior to getting that close.

When she had taken all of her measurements into consideration, she announced my size (with Swells right beside me. If we weren't that close before, we are now.) and I almost sent her back to training. There was no way that, over my clothes, she was getting a reading smaller than what the tag I currently had on unless it was "really holding me in." The only thing to do from there is to... re-measure, of course! Ah, yes. I knew what I was talking about. I even told her that there was little to no chance that I would purchase something that was a larger size than what I came in wearing. I think I saw her trying to do the math on that in her head, but she quickly gave up.

Over the next 45 minutes, I changed and modeled five or six different cuts, sizes, and styles for Swells, under my shirt, of course. The funniest part was how big her eyes got when I came out in the next-size-up specimen. She practically yelled "People pay good money for what you've got!" My only thought was "I'd like a refund. Or at least a do-over." but I didn't say it out loud. I'm trying to be more thankful for the things I do have.

At last, I make a decision. I went a completely different route than I was expecting to and today, I'm wishing that I'd come away with two colors instead of just one. I'm pretty sure that I'll end up back in the old Victoria's Secret again. I'm just waiting for that next coupon delivery from the mailman.

P.S. Before I could drive, a friend of mine and I went Christmas shopping with her parents and ended up in V.S. so that he could get her mom some pajamas. As we were walking out, he asked "Do you know what Victoria's secret really is? ... She's a slut!" :-)

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