Let me set the stage: I was shopping in Vegas yesterday with Debbie. (Debbie, by the way: master shopper. Best I've ever seen. If shopping were an Olympic sport, Debbie would have the gold, silver and bronze.)
We were in Ann Taylor, and I was casually flipping through the sale rack (me: not so much of a master shopper. It seems to be a master shopper you need to have a master bank account. Hm.). I pick up a pretty dress, and, even though we all know the last thing I need is another black dress, I look at the price tag.
$39.99.
"DEBBIE!" I shout/whisper (you know, one of those "whispers" that's really louder than your normal talking voice?)
Being the master shopper that she is, she immediately recognizes the shout/whisper as one of a great find. We oogle over the dress, and I run to the dressing room to try it on. It must be mine before anyone in the store realizes it's been mis-marked.
The dress fits fabulously, and I purchase it. We were going to a fancy dinner and to see Ka that night, and it'd be perfect to wear!
It's only after I leave the store that I realize: wait, this $39.99 dress needs to be accessorized correctly if I'm going to wear it tonight. I simply did not pack the right gear for such a dress. I tell Debbie, and her immediate response is, "I love a mission. Let's go."
The mission entailed finding one essential piece for the dress: a black strapless bra. We're in a huge mall - this really shouldn't be a hard task. In fact, a few stores down is an intimates apparel shop. Debbie goes into a Coldwater Creek, and I head into there.
I tell the lovely (read: bitch. Oh, you'll see why.) sales woman that I need a black strapless bra. She asks what size. I tell her. She scrunches her nose. "Um, well, let me check the back," she says.
Now we all know I'm not the most well-endowed girl. I not exactly endowed at all. Still. I'm a girl. A girl with feelings.
The very lovely (read: super bitch) sales woman comes out of the back and says, "We don't carry that size. Maybe you should just try tape."
Is your mouth hanging open? Because that's what mine was doing.
Tape?
Tape?!?
TAPE!?!
I was flabbergasted. I put my tail between my legs, the high of purchasing such a great dress at a really cheap price deflating out of me, and walk over to Coldwater Creek. I tell Debbie what the saleswoman said. Debbie replies immediately, "Where is she? I'll hold her down, you punch her."
Luckily, Vicki (as in Victoria's Secret) feels my pain. Not only does she carry my size, she had four different options in my size.
Crisis - and tape - averted. Dress worn with stunning success.
Without tape.
3 comments:
OMG. I might have asked to speak to the manager and complained about her.
As a less-than-well-endowed gal myself, I always take consolation in this thought: The big-boobed girls will go droopy soon enough, while we'll remain pert and adorable!!!
I'm sorry, I don't usually even think of commenting (I just love to read and know what you are up to), but I can't believe that story! As a woman, I am outraged, and as your mother-in-law, I am truly horrified that you had such an experience. If I had been there, I think I would have punched her myself. TAPE?!!!! Where's the manager? She should have been fired on the spot!!
There are times when it occurs to me that I'm likely the only dude reading this blog.
JB
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