The Dressing Room

So I went shopping yesterday and had to try something on? And when I found the dressing room I realized that it wasn’t tucked in the back somewhere, where you would think it should be, but it was in the middle of the store. That’s correct, right next to where people were picking out a new pair of Khaki’s was the place where I was expected to disrobe and try on items.

Isn’t there something so exposing about being in a dressing room? It is designed not to be, but friends, until stores make dressing room doors that reach the top of the ceiling, and all the way to the bottom of the floor, how can we be at peace in that tiny little box of a room?

And it doesn’t help that they install these doors that are the size of those you might find in an old west saloon for coverage. Who are they kidding with those? They provide no protection against prying eyes.

And to make matters worse I am extremely tall, so those doors on the dressing room are really covering, at best, up to my navel. So if I am trying on a shirt, I really have to squat, which is never an attractive look for a man, so I can be somewhat modest by covering up my upper body.

And I can’t help but feel kind of like a burlesque dancer in there, except not as confident? I am showing various limbs above the door and dropping clothing on the floor. So if any pervert is watching, they could be getting quite a show.

So instead of giving fellow customers the satisfaction, I ended up squatting, and crouching on the chair in the dressing room so I could hide my entire body behind those puny doors.

And then inevitably you always have that one stray kid who has wondered away from his mother who is in the next stall doing the “squat and crouch” on her chair. And he decides to sneak away and stick his head underneath your stall to say “hello”. Which causes you to lose your footing and you slip off you chair onto the floor in your underpants, where everyone can see you struggling on the floor.

And women wonder why men don’t love to shop.