Shopping in Victoria’s Secret is like stepping into a women’s locker room. The discussions are private but public. Privates are private but public. Men are unwelcome. I don’t find the shopping experience any more pleasant than the steaming experience. Like Sex and the City’s Charlotte, I am plagued by discomfort and confusion when it comes to baring it all.
While shopping yesterday for decidedly practical undergarments, I had to navigate the sea of clearance bins. Those bins bother me because they destroy the fiction of lingerie purchasing – that you are the only person to handle the dainties you later buy. It’s super gross to watch a bunch of dudes thumbing through panties. Some skeezy boys were giggling and throwing thongs at each other. I wanted to throw them through the PINK display panel. In this shopper’s opinion, it would be perfectly acceptable to arm the ladies in black with tape measures, headsets, and cattle prods.
As I slipped into the dressing room, a girl was standing half protected behind her dressing room door, asking a sales person for advice. “I just think that I probably need a 34DD. This 34D feels too small. ” In true Jessica Rabbit style, the girl stepped out from behind the door – breasts first. I looked. I didn’t mean to it’s just that 34DDs are sort of mythically outrageous. The woman was about 5′2″ and weighed no more than 110 lbs. Her DDs were double silicone. I felt my inner Charlotte coming out. What was the appropriate response? I felt that I was an intruder in an intimate moment between customer and consultant.
I finished my rush for my room and started to swing closed the door. Before going any further, let me point out that when it comes to dressing room etiquette, Emily Post’s wisdom is in desperately short demand. We are left to navigate the waters for ourselves, and occasionally, we respond to foolishness with foolishness. What happened next is not my fault. I was practically bullied into rudeness.
Just as my door clicked shut and I prepared to tackle the problem of how to fill out any bra at all, the mostly naked woman beckoned. “Miss. Yes, you! Do you think this bra is too small?” I re-opened the door, confronted by the Takashi Murakami size implants. She grinned widely and threw her body into beauty pagent stance. Before thinking, I replied, “No. I think those boobs are just too big.” I didn’t mean to be unkind. I didn’t mean to say anything at all. It’s just that once in a while, a girl can’t abide. In the dressing room, there isn’t any room for compliment fishing.
Check out my new eyeglasses – first metal frames! My pair is purple though, and on my face, and there is a little hole in the end of each arm where I could cleverly thread a string for librarian charm. They are making their debut at the Harry Potter release party at Barnes and Noble. Jordan promised to draw a lightening bolt on my forehead and I’m holding him to it.
