A kick in the dress

I went shopping yesterday afternoon for a dress to wear for the husband and I's pictures this weekend. I found a little brown-and-plaid number (above) online that I thought was cute and fall appropriate, so I went to the mall to see if the actual department store had one in my size. And what luck, they did! I grabbed a few other dresses to try on and trudged to the dressing room. By the way, I HATE dressing rooms. But seriously, what woman doesn't? The starkness… the horrible fluorescent lighting…it makes me want to run away and just cover up with a potato sack. (Do any of those come in red? Ha Ha!)

But, since I didn't have the time or the funds to purchase six dresses to scrutinize in front of my own mirror, I sucked it up and locked myself into one of the white rooms of unflattery. I didn't see the zipper camouflaging itself under the arm of the dress, so when I put it on over my head, and went to pull it down, it was stuck. The waist of the skirt decided not to budge right smack in the middle of the, eh hem, "girls." I pulled. I pleaded. I pulled some more. The fabric was strangling my bosoms, to the point where my face and neck were creepily turning red. I yanked at that zipper for a good 15 minutes before I gave in to defeat. I was sweating for goodness sake! I pulled my Capri pants on and, horrified but helpless, asked the bewildered sales girl to help me get the darn zipper down so I could get this hemmed beast off me. Unfortunately, she couldn't get the zipper to move either, so she went for help. Oh the embarrassment! While she was gone, I continued to pull at the dress, and it finally relented. Only, in the process, the whole side of the dress by the zipper ripped. The ladies came back just in time to see the gaping hole and my brazier waving hello to them below it. I apologized profusely, offered to pay for the dress and when they said "don't worry about it," I bolted out of there like a dog around fireworks.

I went home and told JD the entire ordeal. I know it can happen to the smallest of girls, but it made me feel like a Buick trying to park in a mouse hole. I mean, all the other dresses in the same size fit fine, so what was the deal with this one?

But, alas, something positive came out of my mortifying experience. Last night, with the thoughts of shredded thread still lurking in my brain, I jumped on the elliptical machine and did the full, 30-minute weight-loss program. Usually I do 15-20 on the flat path and get bored, but the whole mall incident inspired me to push myself to the last grueling second. (Those inclines are tough!) And despite being tired and sweaty, I also did 75 crunches and 50 pushups. I was proud, and it helped me forget about the day's events (almost).

So maybe a swift kick in the dress was what I needed to take my fitness plan to the next level. I just hope the dress I did purchase (from another store of course) behaves itself on picture day!