Thursday, October 9, 2008

fashion victim

So one fine day precisely seven business days ago, I was perusing dresses on ebay, having recently developed an obsession with all things strapless. I happened upon a lovely evening gown, reasaonbly priced, and I thought perfect, if a bit premature, for the law prom.

What the heck, I thought, and I whipped out my trusty MasterCard, as my unsuspecting husband snored peacefully in financial ignorance on the couch beside me.

Fast forward to today. I picked up my parcel from the Post Office and hurried home, expecting to look like Angelina Jolie, only without thirty-seven formerly underprivileged children mucking up the view of my fabulous shoes.

I unwrapped the dress and beheld its loveliness. It really is nice, especially to come from a weird ebay seller whose tagline is "WE MAKE DREASS YOU PRETTEY FOR U!!!!!!" I immediately put it on and zipped it up. Or halfway up, actually. See, it features a masterfully well-concealed zipper, but at the waistband, where the fabric is thicker, the zipper seemed a little misshapen and thus wouldn't budge.

Hm. I took the dress off and gave the zipper a few tugs, up and down. I had to give it a pretty hearty yank, but it went. I figured if I did this a few times, it'd start working smoothly. After a few yanks, I put the dress on again. Still no luck - even with my freakishly flexible arms, I couldn't get a good enough grip to haul it up past that wonky spot.

Really Bad Idea Time. I imagined that I could probably just zip it up while it was off, and then slip it over my shoulders, courtesy of my freakishly flexible upper body. I got the dress over my shoulders without too much trouble, but then I ran into trouble. This thing was STUCK just under my armpits. It refused to budge, up or down. Flat out refused.

I wriggled, I writhed, I begged, and I pleaded. I briefly wondered if Ryan would come home from work to help me, but he was as yet unaware of my financial infidelity, so that didn't seem like that best option. I also wondered if J-Po would come save me, but my house is such a mess I figured if she saw it, she might not be my friend anymore.

About then was when I started to panic. I wondered if a purple chiffon dress were like a python, if every time I exhaled the dress would squeeze my ribcage tighter. It certainly felt that way. I imagined the headline - "Grown woman crushed to death by prom dress." Even in my oxygen-deprived fantasy, I couldn't picture a less dignified way to go.

Finally, finally, FINALLY, I drew what I believed to be my final breath, hulked up, and ripped that fucking zipper right open. That's right! I mauled a beautiful piece of clothing, but at least I am alive to tell about it.