Slice of Write

Stories & jibber-jabber by Janelle Parmer, Author of The Other Side of the Ledge & Chasing Calla Lilies

“Calvin: It’s a magical world, Hobbes, ol’ buddy…Let’s go exploring!”

– Bill Watterson

I took a deep breath as I shut the dressing room door.  It takes the heart of a saint and the gusto of a warrior to thumb through the endless racks of clothes in hopes of finding that perfect fit, color, and size.  The door wouldn’t fully close, so I opened it up again, and slammed it shut.  I jumped back as I startled myself with the loud noise.  The dressing rooms on each side of me shook like an earthquake.  I slid the cheap lock into place, hoping that it remained secure against any overzealous soccer moms or teenagers anxious to try on their own armful of clothing.  I put the potential purchases on the hook and quickly removed my shoes, jeans, and sweater. 

I sneak a quick glance of myself in the mirror.  I was reminded of the 20 pounds I had promised myself I was going to lose before my birthday next month.  The navy suit pants felt nice until I started pulling them over my hips.  The pants betrayed me and suddenly they were squeezing the life out of my soul.  The tussle continued and I finally got the exasperated material above my waist.  Before the pants could retaliate, I quickly and forcefully buttoned them.  I looked in the mirror and saw that my face was flushed, I was sweating, and my hair was a mess.  I composed myself and slipped on the white blouse with blue flowers I had chosen to pair with the pants.  It fit perfectly if my boobs were the size of watermelons.  Apparently, wearing size large means I should I have breasts to account for my stature.  I am a size 10 with average breasts.  Or, at least, I thought they were average.  In this shirt, they looked like peanuts floating in an Olympic size swimming pool.   

I took the blouse off and hung it back up.  I looked down at the pants glued to the bottom half of my body.  The slow removal of the enemy quickly turned into a pulling and kicking match to get him off of me.  Moments later I let out a sigh of relief as I pulled the last inch of fabric from my body and threw him across the dressing room.  Oh, sweet victory is mine!  I sat down on the tiny chair in the dressing room to catch my breath and celebrate my win.  My waist and legs were covered in red.  Collateral damage.  I looked at the remaining clothes on the hook.  I put my mangled hair into a ponytail and wiped the sweat from my brow.  I gracefully stood up, and whispered to myself, “let’s do this,” as I grabbed the next potential threat off the hanger. 

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