Booby Trapped

I must be old fashioned or small town or ... something...

because when I go to an upscale department store to buy a specific piece of under-garment (hint: the title should help you out) I never expected to have so much "help."

Little did I know that when I asked to be measured for this specific under-garment that it would entail so much "help."

Really, a salesperson should be able to measure the area around my back, under my arm pits to the front without asking me to remove my t-shirt. I also do not need to have the same said salesperson (who was at least 60) in the dressing room with me to place the under-garment on me like I am some kind of princess who has never dressed herself and then flip me around into the mirror, put her face next to mine as we both look at my reflection and say, "I think it fits lovely. What do you think?"

She's smiling at "me" and I am looking at her like a dear caught in the headlights... ha! headlights!

(insert here: boisterous and hysterical laughter)

Yes, yes, I know.

I should have excused the sweet lady from my dressing room and informed her that I could handle all of this myself but, what can I say... I felt trapped...

booby trapped

Yes.

I bought it.

It was on sale from $30 to $14.99.
(At Dillard's, if any of you need to know.  Just don't ask to be measured... they want too much information.)

(smile)