Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Beware the hidden underwear

One learns to "layer" in winter and one of my favorite layering pieces is a camisole. It's even recommended in the house since we keep the temps in the below-68 range. That is why one has sweaters. And house shoes.

Layered up, coat, sweater, cami, jeans, socks, other assorted necessaries for public appearances, off I went. At my favorite Chico's, I zeroed in on an item I'd seen in the catalog. That would be the new catalog of spring offerings, but I had a hot coupon in my hand which would reduce its price by half and I was a hunter in search of prey.

There it was on a rack and in my size, something the saleslady was pleased about. I gather it must have been selling like hotcakes. (As an aside, most of the items I gallop in for end up on the sale rack greatly reduced. I was not willing to take the chance with this. And there was the matter of the coupon. Heck--it was sale-priced already!)

But since one can never be absolutely sure of fit, I gathered up another one or two items and found the dressing room. Good-bye coat, off with the sweater, tossed the cami onto the pile. Or so I thought.

The desired item fit beautifully. Of the other two items, one fit, but not beautifully (back to the sale rack with it) and one would make a wonderful addition to my wardrobe. It was even on sale. A coup in less than 10 minutes. Darn, but I'm good! Time to get dressed.

Uh... cami? Not on the coat, under the coat, under the bench, stuck in any of the items I'd tried on, or the sweater I'd hastily pulled off. I had worn one, hadn't I? I just knew I had. I even looked up to the light fixture, hoping to see it dangling there.

No.

About the time I was dressed, the saleslady comes to find me. Was I okay?

Well... I started. She was going to think I was nuts, but I could have sworn I'd worn a camisole. It was black. It was old. It was... as she pointed out when we both stood in the door and studied the dressing room, wedged into the little space on the far side of the bench. She'd spotted it easily. It was obviously a trap for clothing items which wanted to stay at Chico's.

I handed her my ill-gotten gain, clicked the dressing room door closed, and removed my coat, my sweater...

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