House Arrest

There should be days in my life where a little midget runs in my house and yells:

Your too fragile! Don't go outside! Your bound to crack!

Of course I would reply.....Oh you don't know me, silly midget. I'm fine.

Then the next thing you know, you have a formal dress stuck over your head and your crying in a dressing room begging for help.

True story.

For some reason today, I got it in my head that I needed to find a more formal dress for my brothers wedding. (despite what he told me on the phone) Everything was on sale from last week being high school homecoming, so I bought a dress. A dress that needed a new bra, which landed me at the mall in the Victoria Secret dressing room. Pretty pleased with myself since I've made it to a B cup, I took into the dressing room 3 strapless bras and my dress. The first bra, although it seems harmless, is a device made by Satan. You can't see it, but there is about 40 little eyelet hooks down the back of it, and I'm sure is every teenage boys worst nightmare. I couldn't get it on. I was literally spinning around in the dressing room cursing. About a dozen

"Sweet Jesus" 's later......

the attendant asked me if I was ok. I aimed where the voice was coming from and launched that baby over the dressing room door.

"Get this thing the hell away from me!"

I had now been in the dressing room for 20 minutes and had yet to get anything on.

Bra #2, although easier to get on... Pushed up, and in, and apparently had growth hormone in it. I looked down.

"HOly shit where have the two of you been the last 28 years?'

Sweet! I pull on the dress. It's long and flowy and has two layers of fabric in it, I soon found myself lost in a dress. I eye myself in the mirror. Not bad. I lean over to slide the dress over my head and a layer or two is caught over my new found bosom. Crap. Wiggling is not helping. At first I was thinking...I have to be careful not to rip this dress.....Then the thought morphed to.....I am going to chew off my arm to get this dress off.

Still bent over like the letter 'n', with layers of fabric placing me in the black hole, I'm wiggling like a crack head when I spin and hit the wall.

'Oh son of a bitch!!'

Arms now firmly locked above my head I stand up looking like Steve Martin in a scene from The Jerk yelling Oklahoma Oklahoma!

And I start to panic. And in my frustration, start to cry.

You know where this is going now right? Straight to the girl I threw the bra at earlier.

'somebody please come help me'

I could give you more detail, but you don't need it. I'm safe at home now and will not be returning to the Victoria Secret anytime soon.