I have a little confession to make..
I hate shopping.
But I love buying.
It leads to an interesting anxiety breakdown when I just want to leave the mall but I haven't found anything to buy yet. It has even ended in tears on one or two occasions.
Maybe that's why Ian really prefers we don't go to malls, you know, for the sanity of his wife.
I'm no stranger to odd store experiences either.
But, usually, I'm just an observer in these strange incidences.
Not the last time though.
Oh, no, I was front and center of this weird escapade.
Luckily, it was in the privacy of a dressing room, so really no on had to know about it if I didn't share with you.
But since I want to be real with you, here is a little account of that fateful shopping day...
It was about 8 weeks after Grace was born. We were across the border for her two month appointment and my postpartum check up and had stopped off at a mall to eat at Chili's and for me to find a few new shirts, since I was down to 3 that fit me.
Ian took Grace and sat with her in the food court while I headed to one of my favorite stores here.
I had picked out several shirts that I liked and in several sizes, since I wasn't sure of what my European size was.
I was alone in the dressing room and had chosen a cute short sleeve v neck blouse with a sewn in (non stretchy) empire waist.
I had fit it over my huge head (trust me,) and gotten my arms and shoulders (I have wide swimmer's shoulders,) in.
Suddenly I realized that it wasn't going down any further.
Due to having Grace, my chest was a little larger than I remembered and I couldn't get the empire waist over my chest.
Mind you, my arms are stuck straight up in the air and my face is covered by the shirt.
But the shirt?
Yeah, it wasn't going anywhere.
Not down, into the right position.
Not up, you know, off of me.
So there I stood, trying to figure out how to get this thing off of me.
A good 10 minutes passed and the nice Phillipino lady came to check on me.
"Hi ma'am sir (their typical greeting,) can I help you?"
"No, I'm okay, thanks!"
"Okay. Do you need any other sizes?"
"No! I'm Fine! Thanks!"
At this point I was mortified. What was I going to do? How was I going to get it off? I knew the shirt was actually the right size, just the non stretchy waistline couldn't get in the right position.
I REALLY wanted that shirt.
Lots of contorting and wiggling later, and the v-neck came in handy as I could, eh-hem, get one side through at a time, until the shirt was on right.
I braced myself and used my new found technique to get the shirt off and then promptly put it in the "to purchase" pile.
It was cute, after all!
Anyone else have a harrowing dressing room experience? Care to share?