I Don’t Think So…

I am so not cut out for retail. Witness.

In my haste to pack, I left my pajamas in San Francisco. Not a problem, since Winston-Salem is the home of Sara Lee/Hanes Mill Outlet, clothiers extroidinaire.

I browsed through the pajamas. And was utterly unimpressed. All polyester. All with “cute” designs of teddy bears and other cuddly animals. I want something simple and elegant. 100% silk or cotton, please.

I was browsing through the racks of sleepwear when a sales associate approached me. “You need any help?” she said without looking at me and walked off. “Um. No, not really,” I muttered to no one in particular.

Since I found no sleepwear, I decided to look through the bra selection. I need a bra to wear with tank tops. One with either very small straps, or very pretty straps. Yes, I’m vain.

As I was purveying the bra selection, the same sales associate approached me. “You doin’ okay?” she asked as she walked away.

Well, actually, I’d like some help. I’m looking for a bra, size 36D, with pretty straps. Something like that over there, on the mannequin.

She looked at the mannequin. Then looked at my chest. “Lady, that’s a bra, for, um, average sized people. It don’t come in D cup.”

Well, what *do* you have?

“Look here. Look at this Wonderbra. People loooooo-ve this. It gives you such a nice shape. It gives you curves. And some cleavage. Um-hum. Yeah, it do. ”

I looked at the Wonderbra. I looked at her. Maybe she just didn’t understand.

Okay. Look at me. I don’t need extra curves. I need support. With pretty straps. What do you have?

“Uh. You gonna be sorry you didn’ try the Wonderbra. Have it yo’ way.”

She led me around, pointing out various bras, none with pretty straps. I tried them on anyway. At one point she burst into the dressing room (privacy, anyone?) and said, “Did you know 75% of women wear the wrong bra size? Are you one of them?”

I was so shocked I didn’t know how to respond. Next thing I know, there’s a tape measure around my bust.

“Well, you got the right chest size. Let’s see about your cup.” Measure, measure, measure. “Hm. That’s right, too. Why ain’t any these bras fittin’ you?”

Yes, I was wondering the same.

She was tenacious. I’ll give her that. And pleasant, for the most part.

As I was checking out, with sports socks and a camisole (no sleepwear, no bras), she came bounding up. “Did you see this one?” In her hands she held a bra, size 36D, with thin, dainty straps.

I completed my transaction. I walked back onto the sales floor. No, I didn’t. Does it come in black?

“Oh, yeah, honey. You jus’ try this.”

I did. It fit. She wanted me to come out of the dressing room and show her, but I just couldn’t. She took my word for it.

As I was checking out, again, she turned to me. “Now, this don’ work out, you don’t like, you jus’ bring it back. Ev’rything gonna be okay, ya’ hear?”

If only life were that simple….