Trapped

There I was trapped, not only in the grotty changing cubicle of a budget department store, but in an all-in-one running top. It was the stunning softly luminous orange that had initially caught my attention, with a built in bra in a contrasting subtle grey. My size was missing, so I grabbed the next size down, I was feeling good that day, and was certain it would drape beautifully over my voluptuousness.

The change-room lady was deep in conversation as I arrived and thrust a coloured tag at me without any real concern that I had more wearable items than allowed (maximum of 4 apparently). I felt deliciously sneaky taking in my seven – even if they were mostly bras and hardly worthy of their own clothing count.

I tentatively peered into each of the small chambers looking for the least grubby and chose the one at the end (less likelihood of curtain gap).

I tried on the first few items and then finally the running top. It was tricky manoeuvre with multiple straps connected at various points but I managed to pull it on, admiring the colour against my skin tones. Sadly it was a little snug in places and I lamented that maybe I needed to do a bit more running before investing in this top.

It was then that I attempted to take the top off. It was more difficult than it appeared, the attached bra made it almost impossible to pull the singlet part off first and I couldn’t pull the bra component off without pulling the singlet part of. I managed to get it half-way over one arm and then I was trapped – I couldn’t move without dislocating my shoulder and suddenly my breathing rate increased. I could hear the ever increasing ramblings of the people in the queue waiting for the coveted cubicle, obviously wondering what was taking me so long. The pressure, oh the pressure.

Being of logical mind, I mentally deciphered the sequence required to get my arm back through the hole and perhaps slide this lycra straight-jacket down over my hips. It was almost like one of those picture puzzles with the slidey bits – you know what you want the outcome to be, but need to work out which piece you need to slide where first before you can move the other piece. But no, despite my brief self-congratulatory moment the top (and my arm) wouldn’t budge.

Ok, so I was getting a bit desperate now. Perhaps I could casually saunter out of the changing room like this throwing a nonchalant ‘I’ll just take this one’ to the counter staff and stride confidently towards the checkout like some kind of cutting-edge fashion model. Nope, this was Kawana not Paris, I’d attract too much attention – curse the neon orange – it would be like a beacon of fashion faux-par, a high-vis statement shouting ‘Look at me, I’m attirely challenged!’.

I fervently searched for something to help me – if I could loop the strap over one of those hooks, maybe I could stretch it enough to slide my arm back through – worth a shot. I climbed tentatively onto the flimsy looking bench (why did I eat that extra piece of toast this morning – would this ply-wood step hold me?) and shoved my back towards the hook (silent thanks to parents for reasonable height genes).

‘Yeouch!’ I exclaimed as that hook stabbed me viciously in the shoulder blade.

‘Are you alright in there?’ someone enquired through the curtain.

‘Yes, yes, all good thanks’ I replied gruffly so as to end that interaction rapidly, whilst pouting at my ineffectiveness.

Oh crap, they were on to me, my incompetence in dressing would soon be discovered and the pictures would be on Facebook in no time – my reputation as a citizen of honour and good standing within the community would be in tatters. I had to break free from this garment of death without delay!

I suddenly remembered a line from one of those manifesting your life audio tracks that I frequently listened to when stuck in traffic. ‘If you want to achieve your goal, then you must take massive action!’ So with one final attempt, and through channelling my inner contortionist cum yogi, gripped the armhole with my teeth and dragged it up like a leopard with its prized gazelle carcass over my (now numb) upper appendage.

SUCCESS! FREEDOM!

I quickly re-dressed into my sensible clothes and fled from the changing room tossing the items tag back to the lady with a quick courtesy smile.

I swiftly returned all of the items, including the now distorted, stretched and slobber laden top back to the racks and make a quick getaway back to the safety of the stationery section