My shoe shopping habit has gotten out of hand. I need to practice restraint. So yesterday, I shopped for jeans.
I tried on a pair of the best a$$ jeans that I have ever worn. They were perfect, except for the cheap, glittery belt attached. I admired myself for a moment before deciding that I should let other people admire me as well. I pranced around the store, pausing dramatically in front of other shoppers. Strangely, no one commented on how fabulous my a$$ looked. Even the sales associate looked mildly annoyed. Haters.
Back in my fitting room, I turned around to appreciate the detail on the pockets. Also, I wanted another look at my butt.
I fumbled with the belt. It was stuck. I tugged at it. It didn't budge. I couldn't get out of the jeans. If only I hadn't broken my nails bowling, I am sure that I would have been able to pry the belt loose and avoid what happened next.
Slightly sweaty and panting, I called for the sales associate. Why don't fitting rooms have an emergency button to push just in case something like this happens? Or a phone, like the ones in elevators?
Four sales associates couldn't help me out of the jeans. It's usually not that hard to get me out of my pants. "Maybe we should have a few drinks," I suggested. Finally, after I promised to buy the jeans, the Manager on Duty gave the okay to cut the belt.
I've always wanted a sexy EMT to cut my clothes off. There are some flaws with this fantasy. The auto accident part isn't so appealing. Also, I'd have to make sure that I was wearing something flattering, but that I wouldn't mind having shredded.
This wasn't going exactly how I imagined.
When I was free, an associate asked, "Should I ring these up for you, ma'am?"
I demanded a discount.