Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Come Here Often?
Sunday, after brunch with the girls, we headed out for a stroll downtown, when we happened across a cute boutique. The outdoor sales rack lured us in, and soon enough, I headed toward the back of the store with my clothing possibilities in tow.
The salesman called out, "Everyone decent?" before he drew back the curtains.
You know what that means, right?
Communal dressing room!
I entered and found a couple of women inside. I tried on several items and found a dress I adore. But, that's not the point of this post. The point of this post is that there was a woman in her early 20s directly across the room, which put her about three feet away from me. She wore a long sweater with a pair of skinny jeans and she called to her friend outside, "The jeans aren't working."
I happened to like the jeans. Now, I'm not one to work when I'm not working. But, there was something about seeing her in clear view--this wasn't just something overheard in the next fitting room stall--I could see the girl! And, so I made a conscious decision to be Stacey, not Dr. Stacey, when I said, simply, "They look nice."
"Yeah, but I have runner's thighs," she said.
"And this makes them look worse."
She looked at me inquistively, expecting some sort of reaction in return.
Uh-oh. What do I do? Stacey. . . Dr. Stacey. . . Stacey. . . Dr. Stacey. I went witht the Dr., because, you see, the thing is, we're one in the same. We have the same principles, the same voice, and the same difficulty in keeping our mouth shut when it comes to women and our bodies.
"Well, I'm actually a psychologist, and quite interested in body image, so I'm not going to agree with you on that one." We laughed and exchanged names. (I feel the need to say that I said the above statement with a smile, because I don't want to come off sounding like the psychology police. . . even though, apparently, I am.)
"Hey," she yelled out to her friend. "There's a body image consultant in here!"
"Well, I'm not a body image consultant [whatever that is], but I am a psychologist, and I do a lot of work with eating disorders and body image." At one point, my friend wandered in, also a psychologist. "Now there are two of us," I told my new communal dressing room friend (NCDRF) with a sinister smile.
Her friend joined us shortly. NCDRF said to her, "See, don't they look awful?" But the thing was, she looked at me, when asking the question. "Terrible, I said snidely, "You should probably start starving yourself tomorrow." (And yet again, I feel the need to reinforce the fact that I was joking--I was amplifying her irrationality to make a point--but that's the Dr. talking. No, I don't really think anyone should start starving herself tomorrow. . . including you.)
We commented on the psychology of the communal dressing room experience. "I probably should just have a seat and set up shop," I joked.
"Yeah, do you have a card?" she asked with a smile. I couldn't tell if she was joking or not. "No, I'm kinda serious here--do you have a card? It's probably something I should look into."
I handed her my card. "Well, now that you've seen me naked, I imagine it would make things much more comfortable."
Again, we laughed and eventually parted ways, agreeing that this qualified as one of the best ever fitting room stories.