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It was February in the Fort Worth area (Dallas is a minor suburb, where the East Ends, they used to say in "Foat Wurth" where the West Begins!) The morning newspaper carried a couple ads for party dresses -- clearance, low price, bridesmaid or prom -- and they caught my eye. I quickly made the right suggestions to my Alter Ego, who was bored sitting around playing with computers and other boring boy stuff. I got him into panties, pantyhose, bra and waist cincher, jeans and a flannel shirt, and off we went to the opposite end of the county where three shops with interesting ads were located.
It's easy to walk into a womens' wear shop, and even to look at the styles, quality, and prices, until the (almost always) young woman comes to help. "Hi, can I help you?"
Is it time for truth, or consequences? I try the truth side most of the time... "I'm looking for the party dresses from your ad in this morning's paper." So far, so good.
"Right over here, sir (! drat, my A E was found out again!) Are there particular colors? What size?"
"I think a bright color -- like royal blue would be best." (Having noticed that the shop was arranged like a rainbow, defer the harder question til later.)
"Here are our blues -- what size do we need?" she insisted.
My poor A E gulped silently, and answered for me, "Some 12s fit well, but sometimes a 14 does better if the maker has been a bit more frugal with the cut."
"How about one of these... "
"Too low, too high, too..." You know the drill. "But what about those black dresses?" As she offered a particularly attractive choice, my A E held it to himself and it looked like it might fit. The young woman, if she'd noticed, might have begun to suspect, but she asked how it would fit. "It needs to have a long waistline to fit well," I added, "and this might be just right. Could I try this, please?"
At this point, I expected some reaction, but only got "Sure -- right here!" with a warm and friendly smile. She opened the dressing room, which was large enough to easily move around, and which had a large mirror, too. I stepped in, closed the door, removed the drab clothing, unzipped the dress, stepped in, and was struggling with the long back zipper when there was a tap. "How's it going? Can I help with anything?" just at the right time.
"I'm having a problem with the zipper," I said... and she opened the door! I turned around (I was decent, after all) and she helped with the zipper. She had to pull the zipper past the the bra band, and as this was a fairly short dress, there was a lot of leg hanging out (all the way to the floor!).
The dress really didn't look right, so after all the work, I returned it to the hanger and returned the hanger to her just a few minutes later. "Well, thanks for trying to help me," I offered, and she invited me back -- "ask for Amy next time you're in -- I'll be glad to help again," she said with a smile that made my A E wish he was 20 years younger. .
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