Because Tuesday is the day for sharing

My sister Jenny called me at work yesterday because she was in Burlington Coat Factory looking at Grown Lady Dress-Up Coats for the first time ever. This is the one she called me about:


Pretty, huh? The shell is 80% lambswool and 20% cashmere, which will explain what happened next.

"It's just so beautiful and so soft, and now I'm standing here in the store petting myself."

"I don't think you're supposed to do that in a public place."

"Well, I'm in a dressing room. So no one knows I'm doing it but you. And the dressing room video camera people."

"Okay, that's good then."

But speaking of dressing rooms and the freaky things we do in them, something about the lighting in there makes skin imperfections suddenly become so noticeable that I cannot even consider leaving the stall until I have Done Something About It. It's like, "Woah? Why did no one TELL me that I had blackheads the size of quarters just hanging around on my face? Why are salespeople and children not shrieking in terror and then throwing up when they see me approach?"

I'm much better about this now, but thoughts like those led to one of my Worst Dressing Room experiences ever, wherein I made the poor decision of mashing at something that must have been connected directly to an artery. I won't get into details, but it was bad. And I didn't have any tissues or anything with me, (and was wearing white and khaki, so no help there.) I ended up using a Gap receipt to apply pressure to the wound for what seemed like forever. I'm lucky I didn't catch a disease doing that.

So. Let's hear some of your dressing room stories! You know you have them.

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