i was at the mall trying on dresses, and was feeling uncertain about a strapless number with somewhat poorly located pockets. still pretty cute, and at $19.99… definitely worth consideration.
so i threw a belt on it, walked out of the dressing room, and asked the nearest sales associate if she thought it was too poofy around the waist. as in: is the excess pocket fabric making it unflattering? (i may have even motioned to the bunchiness with my hand.)
apparently i wasn’t clear enough, because her response knocked me on my ass:
“maybe you should wear something under it , like spanx”
“or maybe you’re just having a puffy day.”
[backs slowly into dressing room with head down]
wow. i was speechless and ashamed and mortified. i high tailed it out of there (ok, AFTER i bought three pairs of $1.97 flats- who cares about pride when you have cute shoes?), and drowned my humiliation in a jumbo sized container of pretzel nubs.
once i’d gotten a grip, i calmly called the store manager and explained what happened. i was sweet, apologetic even. reluctant to name names. in short, i was a PUSSY.
i was so filled with anger, and so completely afraid to make a scene or be rude or inconvenience anyone else, that i lost my chance to slap that sales associate across the face with my glove and demand the satisfaction that i deserve. at the very least, i lost my chance to slap that sales associate across the face.
i failed. also, a mall sales girl called me puffy.
*i did take the opportunity to have a MASSIVE twitter pity party, which made me feel infinitely better. you heard it here first- twitter is good for your self esteem.
what should i have done?
pretty much the coolest easter egg dyeing technique ever (even if you’re not into easter,i’m pretty sure it could have other equally awesome applications).
sweet shit on sale via (of course) the hairpin.
these photos are stunning. also, these teenage girls are cooler and more attractive than i ever will be/have been.
this butterbeer cupcake recipe started something it couldn’t finish. to quote my facebook page: “attempting to synthesize butterbeer in my kitchen lab with cream soda and buttershots. my stomach hurts, and i’m not even a little bit drunk. fuck you harry potter.”
**yeah, that picture is the scene in pretty woman where the bitchy sales ladies send her packin. maybe richard gere will take me back to the mall and tell that dressing room bitch that she needs spanx, and that we’re gonna go spend our money in freeport.