a fitting

Was in a cer­tain well known lin­gerie store to­day. Sales as­so­ciate asked me if “we” would be do­ing a fitting. 

When I po­lite­ly de­clined, she gave me side eye and asked what size I was. 

I know I’m al­ways full of piss and vine­gar on here and in pri­vate, but most of the time in pub­lic I’m gen­er­al­ly pret­ty friend­ly and I take the path of least re­sis­tance, so I told her. 

(It’s not a big deal to me anyway.)

She smiled and said, “Okaaaayyyy, well, that’s what you look like, so, no fit­ting to­day, but you should def­i­nite­ly get one next time!”

I end­ed up not buy­ing any­thing, but be­fore I left I thanked her for help­ing me and told her I’d come back for a fit­ting soon, be­cause I had­n’t had one in “a while” (years, it’s been years) and she told me, “You should get one every six to eight months! You’d be sur­prised how much you can change over time!”

I re­al­ly, re­al­ly want­ed to flap back with, “Why, that’s aw­ful­ly co­in­ci­den­tal, see­ing as how the bras here go for $50 a pop, and all.”

But I didn’t.
 
 

—emi­ly duchaine

Flom­mist Emi­ly Duchaine lives in the Pa­cif­ic North­west. She likes to drink mead, learn about sharks, and lis­ten to the Talk­ing Heads. She pre­tends to be a pro­fes­sion­al busi­ness­woman most days. Copy­right © 2017 Emi­ly Duchaine.

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