I forgot to tell you all but when we were in Orlando, I got to go to the Lululemon outlet there. I was more excited about this than Disney World.
It was smaller than I expected and we get a lot of clearance Lululemon stuff in the yoga studio, some of which I even get a discount on (thus the whole paying to work thing), but I still found a pile of clothes to try on. There was a line for the fitting rooms and I waited patiently before finally getting my own stall.
I tried everything on and did my downward dog mirror test on all of it, when I found myself at the last piece of clothing--a cute tank with a built-in bra. I really liked it, I decided to put it in the "keep" pile.
Then I tried to remove it.
I managed to get it halfway off and then I was stuck. Really, really, really stuck. I struggled for a moment and managed to become more entangled. One arm was stuck in the air, one caught up oddly in the shirt, my face halfway covered and my belly exposed, the shirt not budging...not up or down.
I considered my options. Mr. Ashley was at the front of the store but my only hope would be to call him on the phone--my limited mobility was not going to allow that kind of maneuvering. And what, he was going to march past the line of people and break into the fitting room to rescue me? I mean, he would and all, but ugh. I struggled for another minute and started to panic. I was in pain from my contorted arm.
At this point I was really freaking out.
I thought about calling out for the fitting room attendant, and then remembered that it was an attractive young guy. I struggled some more, genuinely afraid I was going to obstruct my face and suffocate for a minute there.
I decided I might just have to use Hulk strength to bust myself out of the top and hope the checkout person didn't notice the tattered condition of the shirt as I bought it. I gathered myself for a mighty struggle, quickly cursing the durability of Lululemon clothing and giving up again, feeling exhausted.
I just could not call for help, I was having visions of the fire department coming in with the jaws of life; everyone in line pissed about the hold up, the fitting room guy telling his friends at the bar later that night.
I calmed myself, took a few deep breaths and told myself that much like a fox stuck in a trap, I was going to do whatever it took to get out of that fucking shirt, up to and including chewing off a limb. Like a wild person I fought and wriggled and squirmed and after practically dislocating a shoulder, managed to free myself.
That was some scary shit. I'm pretty sure I almost died.
I did not buy that shirt and I will never even attempt to buy a shirt like that ever again.