The dress-buying nightmare…!!!!!

I am after all a mere mortal, and I have my pet nightmares.
It’s the usual, and they drop by every now and then in the middle of the night or at other times when I am busily unaware of their existence.
Not that I mind, now that I have managed to pet them. It’s been a while since I have flinched and screamed out when they come. Instead, I greet them perfunctorily, like you’d greet an old, alcoholic friend who smells like old socks and generally gives you the heebie-jeebies.
Having being tamed my pet nightmares are often rather petty.

I’d just begun to forget all about the nasty old fellows when they rushed back in joyously again. My practised ease being a little unused felt uncomfortably rusty and I admit I wasn’t as gracious as I’d liked to have been.

It was like this, yesterday when I happened to get my hands on a little unexpected cash I, fifteen that I am at heart, decided to buy myself some nice little dress off a fine boutique.
Now, to be honest I am not a particularly seasoned boutique shopper. You wouldn’t get me to spell out exactly when I bought the last designer label even if you hypnotized me.
So, needless to say I felt a bit of a virgin.
With girlish excitement I walked into the nearest shop that caught my sight. Spring in step, humming like a spring child. Up, up I climbed the stairs (discreetly slipping on the banana-skin like slick floor, but quickly recovering before my ear turned beetroot).
Ah! What a lovely interior. Such lights, bathing everything in bright… bright.. cheerful shine…such mirrors, framed and gilted, like it framed the image of the Queen of Monaco…and the upholstery on the sofa…such taste…such fine taste.

My reverie was cracked open by the attendant’s high-pitched, clacking cough. Clearly, it was a desired effect.
“May I help you”, I heard her say, although her crimson lips were barely moving. “Like a parrot”, I thought, without of course being rude enough to voice it. I nodded, afraid that my voice would crack the large glass windows, or the mirrors or at least the woman’s high heels. ‘I’d like to be as reverential as a mouse in a church’ I decided.

A few frantic gestures later I had managed to communicate what I wanted to the woman. She looked displeased “are you sure?” she asked suspiciously. And then, deciding that I was perhaps a tourist with little or no knowledge of the local language she went into a foreign relations mode. “Lot of money” she said, in a strangely loud voice, “BIG designer”…”too much expensive”.
Feeling peevish I simply unhooked the hanger from the wall and scrambled into the nearest changing room. The woman, quick though she was (reflex is one of the prime considerations for retail sales people don’t you know) was left huffing outside the door.

Dress clutched in hand, I felt triumphant. One corporate bimbette outdone, a couple million more to go. I turned with a sizeable grin and that’s when the first missile struck. The bloody room was a mirror house. I looked around helplessly. Mirror on the ceiling, mirror on the 4 walls, mirror on the floor. Mother of god, there was really no escaping yourself here!
Every pore of my face was exposed in here, every zit, every scar, every little scratch, displaced strand of hair. I trembled and resolved not to look. With eyes half closed I climbed into the slinky purple dress. Don’t look at the mirrors, don’t look…I chanted…as if the mirrors would, Medusa like, turn me to stone …or worse. But kids these days, they don’t listen you know, and the more you say “DON’T” the more they are likely to “DO”. So quickly I took a look.
Out of vain. I admit.
And the shock! The sight! Out with vanity!….the glimpse of the Cuba-sized posterior, so well-hidden and denied with such exuberance for the most of my lifetime….the pedestal like thighs….oh!! all revealed…all revealed. Flustered I looked down only to be exposed again…I looked away…to the left…to the right…upwards….was there really no exit to this reality room?

I jolted out of the place faster than I had jutted in.
Big shops and fancy dresses have an odd way of leaving you feeling naked.

Next time I am in the mood for some dress-shopping I will just opt for a nap and a nightmare, I resolved.