Tussle in the Dressing Room by Janelle Parmer

I let out the deep breath I had been holding onto like an old lady clutching her handbag on a Sunday morning at church as I shut the dressing room door. It takes the heart of a saint and the gusto of a warrior to thumb through the endless racks of clothes in hopes of finding that perfect fit, color, and size. The door wouldn’t fully close, so I opened it up again, and slammed it shut. I jumped back as I startled myself with the loud noise. The dressing rooms on each side of me shook like an earthquake. I slid the cheap lock into place, hoping that it remained secure against any overzealous soccer moms or teenagers anxious to try on their own armful of clothing. I put the potential purchases on the hook and quickly removed my shoes, jeans, and sweater.

I sneak a glance of myself in the mirror and was quickly reminded of the twenty pounds I had promised myself I was going to lose before my birthday next month. The navy suit pants felt nice until I started pulling them over my hips. The pants betrayed me and suddenly they were squeezing the life out of my soul. The tussle continued and I finally got the exasperated material above my waist. Before the pants could retaliate, I quickly and forcefully buttoned them. I looked in the mirror and saw that my face was flushed, I was sweating, and my hair was a mess. I composed myself and slipped on the white blouse with blue flowers I had chosen to pair with the pants. It fit perfectly if my boobs were the size of watermelons. Apparently, wearing size large means I should I have breasts to account for my stature.

I am a size ten with average breasts. Or, at least, I thought they were average. In this shirt, they looked like peanuts floating in an Olympic size swimming pool. I took the blouse off and hung it back up. I looked down at the pants glued to the bottom half of my body. The slow removal of the enemy quickly turned into a pulling and kicking match. Moments later I let out a sigh of relief as I pulled the last inch of fabric from my body and threw the pants across the dressing room. Oh, sweet victory is mine! I sat down on the tiny chair in the dressing room to catch my breath and celebrate my win. My waist and legs were covered in red. Collateral damage. I looked at the remaining clothes on the hook. I put my mangled hair into a ponytail and wiped the sweat from my brow. I gracefully stood up, and whispered to myself, “let’s do this,” as I grabbed the next potential threat off the hanger.

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