Today I went shopping while Em was at a pottery camp. Soph, Little One and I headed over to the very swank and upscale boutique of TJ Maxx. Anyplace where you can pile clothing into a plastic, squeaky cart seems to be my kind of place these days. Now, before anyone accuses me of being sarcastic, which I never am by the way, let me say I'm serious. A cart is a very nice thing to have when you are tired of chasing a two year old around the store and telling her to "look please, not touch" no less than twelve dozen times. Put child in cart with a book or whatever she just pulled off the shelf along with the heavy tote bag you carry as a purse. The purse is hot pink with green dots by the way. Just another accessory that screams, "I'm a Mom with a child in diapers!".
So we wheeled the squeaking cart across the store to the dresses, but before we could shop Soph decided we needed a bathroom break. Then Little One decided to try, with no success. Don't ask her though because she will always respond to the question "Did you go?" with "Just a little bit". I never argue even though it is obvious she didn't go even just a little bit, it's the trying that counts right?
Back over to the dresses. I pick one up, like the colors, like the price even better and turn to put it in the cart. Soph looks at the dress and then at me and asks, "What's that shirt doing in the dress section?" Quickly I hold very cute dress up in front of me and realize it hits 4 inches above my knee. I glance up at the sign over the rack and it says JUNIORS. Ahhh, that explains it. I take this time to explain to Soph that it is really not very modest to wear such a short skirt, no matter what the age. I'm hoping she'll skip those teen years all together actually.
Creaking over to the Misses dress section I'm relieved to find dresses of a more appropriate length. Soph picks out a very pretty one and guess what, the skirt of the dress goes to my ankles. See she took my little chat about modesty to heart, bless that child. So we throw a few more things into the cart and race across the store to the dressing room. The cart is now full of clothes to try on, but is minus a toddler. She is skipping across the store yelling "Pretty, pretty" as she points to everything she passes.
I am a little upset that the largest dressing room is occupied. I hear the voices of two young women commenting on colors and hemlines behind the dressing room doors. I listen to them giggling as they twirl about in that spacious room as I cram myself, Soph, and Little One into a stall about 2 feet wide. But it's okay because I can try on clothes in record time. I've learned this from having three children and a husband who highly dislikes shopping. I try on Soph's dress and because of the lack of zippers or buttons it's a little bit of a struggle getting it on, but once it's on it fits very nice. The cut is sexy enough for my husband and modest enough for my children. Folks, I don't know about the rest of you women, but for me that right there is a winner. Almost enough that I wouldn't care what it costs, almost. The problem comes when I try to take off the dress. It has these twisted crisscross straps in the back and right smack in the center of the straps they have the security tag. You know, the big ugly plastic thing that is filled with ink. The one you shouldn't let your very curious 6 year old play Macgyver with.
So there I am in the snug little stall pulling and tugging, trying to get the dress off. Every time I wiggled the tag dug itself into my back. When I shimmied it pulled tight onto the straps so I couldn't slip my arms out. I thought of asking the dour faced woman at the entrance to the dressing room to take it off, but the fact that she counted my items twice before going in and then eyed my purse-bag suspiciously I was hesitant. She'd probably think it was some sort of evil plan to thwart their security system.
Taking a deep breath I try again and whack my elbow on the wall behind me. Ouch. I dare to glance over at Soph. One look and we both burst into laughter. Little One, not wanting to feel left out, stops trying to peek under the next stall and begins to laugh. Her laugh is the throw your head back, scrunch up your eyes and nose, deep belly laugh. This of course makes Soph and I laugh even harder. Somewhere in this hilarity I am actually able to slip the dress down and off my body. Thank you, I'm free.
But all this makes me wonder who is the person that puts these security tags into place. They always end up in the very worst places. I won't tell you what happened when I tried on a swimsuit with one of those things attached. Well, it just wasn't pretty. And sometime it's really hard to imagine the outfit without the tag when its sitting dead center on your chest.
If you are a security tag pinner I'm just asking if you'll please think of us before you shoot that tag onto a garment. Please.
Oh, and by the way, I splurged and bought myself a purse. A real, honest to goodness purse. There is nothing bag or tote about it. No pink, no dots, no pull out diaper changer. I can't wait until the day I get to use it.
And if you have any shopping horror stories, I'd love to hear all about it!