Further Diary of a Lingerie Queen
Attained Macy's dressing room with 11 items. Knowing the limit is 6, i keep 1 I'm almost positive I'll want, 5 I'm almost positive I don't, and surrender the other 5 to the pleasant young Keeper of the Garment Numbers for exchange when I'm done trying on the first batch.
Expectations fulfilled eerily true to form, I keep 1 item, get dressed (barely) and go back out to exchange the other 5.
The Keeper of the Garment Numbers is not there. Her space is empty. And, alas, so is the clothes rack.
My emotions beggar description, kind of like the shattering sadness when the guy in The Woman in the Dunes first realizes he's stuck in the sand.
The Keeper returns, smiling and innocent as a tanned brunette Licca doll.
Emotion shifts my primary language to pidgin and the volume to High.
"Where's my STUFFS?!"
Her eyebrows lower, gently. "How many stuffs?"
"5 STUFFS!"
"What kind of stuffs?"
"FELINA STUFFS!!" Felina, the cheesecake silk-and-satin titillation of the gods.
"OH!" Comprehension crosses her face. "I get 'em." She disappears out into the store and returns in two seconds with the correct 5 Felina stuffs, apparently not yet re-shelved.
Realizing my part in the last exchange could be deemed worthy of an out-of-control sumo wrestler destroying a hotel room, I thank her politely for the stuffs, re-commence fitting room proceedings, and eventually leave, smiling, in possession of two push-up bras and a garter belt.
Vanishing lingerie, the ephemeral red flag to the charging temptress.
Expectations fulfilled eerily true to form, I keep 1 item, get dressed (barely) and go back out to exchange the other 5.
The Keeper of the Garment Numbers is not there. Her space is empty. And, alas, so is the clothes rack.
My emotions beggar description, kind of like the shattering sadness when the guy in The Woman in the Dunes first realizes he's stuck in the sand.
The Keeper returns, smiling and innocent as a tanned brunette Licca doll.
Emotion shifts my primary language to pidgin and the volume to High.
"Where's my STUFFS?!"
Her eyebrows lower, gently. "How many stuffs?"
"5 STUFFS!"
"What kind of stuffs?"
"FELINA STUFFS!!" Felina, the cheesecake silk-and-satin titillation of the gods.
"OH!" Comprehension crosses her face. "I get 'em." She disappears out into the store and returns in two seconds with the correct 5 Felina stuffs, apparently not yet re-shelved.
Realizing my part in the last exchange could be deemed worthy of an out-of-control sumo wrestler destroying a hotel room, I thank her politely for the stuffs, re-commence fitting room proceedings, and eventually leave, smiling, in possession of two push-up bras and a garter belt.
Vanishing lingerie, the ephemeral red flag to the charging temptress.
posted by frankysbride at 9:20 AM
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