Dressed Down

I have a fear of dressing rooms.

It’s not the mirrors and lighting that bother me.

It’s that slit between the curtain and the wall. The spaces between the slats in the door. The little openings that anyone could peep through and get an eyeful of me in my oldest pair of underwear, trying to squeeze my way into a pair of must-be-mis-sized jeans.

Really, I think of dressing rooms as a minefield of opportunities for embarrassment.

For one thing, I’m pretty sure all of the pert, size-two salesgirls out there get sadistic pleasure out of waiting for just the right moment to ask if I need anything.

“How’s that working for you?”

I’ve been stuck for thirty seconds trying to pull a too-small top over my head. Dimly through the sheer fabric, I see a heavily-made-up eye peering around the curtain at me. I quickly throw myself against the other wall, out of sight.

“It’s great,” I say, my voice muffled in the shirt’s armpit, which is stretched across my mouth. “Everything’s just fine, thanks.”

And then there’s the five-year-old boy who always seems to show up in the dressing room whenever I’m trying on bathing suits. As his tired mommy puffs her way into a skirt one room over, he’s crawling around on the floor, looking for action.

Soon, his grinning face pops up underneath the dividing wall. When this happens, I have found kicking to be extremely effective.

“Hey! Owww!” The little face contorts, disappears.

“Mommy, I saw that woman’s boobies!” I hear from the other side.

Honestly, though, it’s the unseen dressing room watchers that bother me the most.

At first I felt relief when I entered a department store fitting room the other day without encountering a single employee.

But as I stood topless, tying a satin halter top around my neck, I paused. Yeah, things were quiet. Too quiet.

Suddenly, a mental image came to my mind of security guards watching a slew of small screens showing images of men and women trying on clothes.

Of course! I was on camera! Oh dammit! They were getting an eyeful. I could just imagine the conversation.

“Hey Larry, take a look at this one!”

“Oh man, she’s taken it all off. Turn around, toots. Whoa! Take a look at those abs. She could use a few sit ups! Those pants don’t fit her at all. What was she thinking, getting that size 4?”

“No kidding. Hey, take a look over here, Larry! There’s some action going on over in Womens Sportswear that I think you oughta see.”

I ended up hunched in a corner, trying to yank my clothes back on without showing anything to the electronic eye, wherever it was.

When I think about it, I have my mom to thank for my dressing room phobia.

Growing up, she always insisted on joining me as I tried on clothes. Sitting in a corner, she’d offer a running commentary as I changed.

“That skirt is too small on you. You’ve gained at least five pounds. Don’t think you’re a size two anymore, because you’re not. I don’t know what you’re trying to hide from in here. It’s not like I haven’t seen it before! I’m not looking at you. Look at me, I have my head turned the other way. Where did you get that underwear? I would not have bought something that trashy for you!”

On and on and on.

As I got older, I begged her to wait outside. She was deeply offended.

“I don’t know what you think you have that no one else has,” she’d say. “I gave birth to you. I used to change your diapers!”

Just last June, she took me on a birthday shopping spree. When she marched into the dressing room behind me, I didn’t have the heart to stop her. Surprisingly, her comments were limited to the clothing itself. It seemed my mother finally had mellowed.

I should have known better.

“You know,” she said over lunch at Neiman Marcus a few hours later, “I’m really surprised your nipples are so small. Most women’s nipples get huge after they have children. I mean huge.”

“Mother!” I hissed, turning crimson.

“Well you were wearing a see-through bra,” she said. “How could I help but notice? Anyway, it’s not like I haven’t seen it before!”

“You said you weren’t looking!”

“I was trying to give you a compliment! Gah, you are so sensitive!”

Surely I’m not the only one with dressing room issues (although I doubt too many of you have nipple-complimenting mothers). Why else would online shopping be so popular? But since I have this thing about trying on clothing before I buy it, there’s no easy answer.

Unless you count this.