Shopping is always an anxiety-inducing experience for me. I blame Mr. Rizzuto. Mr. Rizzuto is notoriously frugal, especially when I’m the one doing the spending. His favorite question is “how much did you pay for that?” I could buy the Hope Diamond on Overstock.com and he’d still complain. Every time I go shopping I hear his voice in the back of my head saying “How much did you pay for that? TWENTY DOLLARS?” It’s very annoying.
This afternoon I decided to go shopping. I was on my way to my usual spot, H&M, which is on 5th Avenue. 5th Avenue is dangerous because there are lots of stores there. I always pass by one in particular called White House Black Market. They always have really cute stuff in the windows, all in black and white of course.
Have you ever heard of it? I don’t know if they have them anywhere else, but it’s the place where they sold the dress Michelle Obama wore on TV. I never went in there, but I always wanted to. Today I was passing by and somehow I got sucked in. I don’t know how it happened.
The minute I crossed the threshold a clerk was on me like white on rice. I don’t really know why, I was wearing a cheap ass Old Navy shirt and pants that I barely had time to lint-brush this morning. I might as well have been wearing a sign that said “I po’.” Did I mention the store was a little on the pricey side? Nevertheless, she was all over me.
“Welcome!” she said. “What brings you here today?”
“Well,” I said, “I’ve passed by a million times but never came in before….”
At that point I narrowed my eyes and gave her a look that said “Look bitch, keep it moving. I’m broke-ass and I’m just looking.”
“That’s super! We have a lot of stuff on sale today…”
She then narrowed her eyes and gave me a look that said “No, you look bitch. I work on commission. I’m gonna get mine even if I have to get all Suge Knight, grab you by your ankles and shake the cash out of your pockets.”
After that she started yapping about a bunch of stuff and showing me around. I pointed out some things that I thought were cute and she grabbed clothes off the racks left and right.
“By the way,” she said, “my name’s Pushy Loudmouth Salesho’. Yours is…?”
“Uh, Wanda,” I said.
“OPEN UP A CHANGING ROOM FOR WANDA!”
I was starting to panic. One of the things I pointed out was an $88 tunic. I started to see Mr. Rizzuto following me around with a two by four with nails in it.
“Um…isn’t this the place where Michelle Obama got her dress?” I asked. Bad move.
“Oh yes!” said PLS. “I bought one because it’s part of history. You have to try one on. You look like you’re about a size…”
She looked me up and down for a minute. I balled up my fist and waited for her to continue.
“I don’t know…medium? 8 or 10?”
“Oh. Yeah. That’s about right.”
“GET WANDA THE OBAMA DRESS IN A MEDIUM!”
She left me to look around while she loaded up the dressing room. She even asked me what shoe size I wore so I didn’t try the dress on in my busted ass Sketchers. The bitch was good. When she finally led me into the room it had my name on it. No joke, there was a piece of paper on the door that said “Wanda.” There were also about 3 other clerks hovering about in case I tried to escape.
There were about 6 different tops, a few pairs of leggings, a sweater dress and, of course, the Obama dress. The good news is that almost everything made me look every bit the lardass that I am. Everything except the dress. Oh, the dress….
To be continued…