Friday, August 9, 2013

Feathers aren't My Style

"Excuse me, I brought this dress in the store with me; It's mine. I just wanted to match some things to it." She said to me, waving a thrift store bag in my direction to prove her point.

"Oh that is just fine Ma'am," I said, returning to my work.

"Well? Aren't you going to help me?" She indignantly responded.

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize you needed me. How can I help?"

"Hold up this, like you are wearing it so I can see what it looks like." She unfurled a tragic looking black, synthetic T-dress adorned with yellow, green, and red peacock feather print.

"I'm sorry, you—you want me to—"

"Hold it right like this!" She pressed it against my shoulders. She produced long stemmed peacock feathers and began to position them on the left breast. "I just need to glue a few of these on, won't it be lovely?"

"It will be—uh, definitely unique Ma'am."

There I stood, modeling a dress in the middle of the store for the enjoyment of my coworkers, passing customers, and one particularly direct lady.

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