Greetings to all of the Blog's 5 loyal followers. One week in and Alison is deferring to guest writers on the blog. However, this story needs to be told in the first person. Let me take you on a trip back to the winter of 2010...
I hate shopping. I am perfectly content wearing the same clothes for years on end until Alison or my mother gives in an purchases something for me. This Christmas, Alison had bought me a pair of trendy jeans from Nordstrom. Those of you who know me can probably understand that I do not fit well into designer jeans ( I stick with "loose" or "baggy" fit out of necessity). So I was headed out the door for the mall when Alison thought it would be a great idea to let our two year old Jack tag along to make an exchange.
Things were slow at Nordstrom on that Thursday night and nice lady helped me find five pairs of 38X32's that are not as "slim fitting" as their usual stock (I soon found out that our ideas of "loose fitting" were incredibly different). Things were going well. Jack busied himself by hiding in the clothing racks and staring at store patrons. After gathering the 5 pairs of jeans, Jack and I headed to a fitting room so I could see if any of the pants made the cut.
Jack spent the first few minutes asking me what I was doing and who the people were that were talking on the other side of my dressing room. I mumbled some answer to him while focusing on squeezing myself into another pair of jeans that might have fit me 10 years ago. At about the time I pulled pair number three over my knees, Jack saw his opportunity and dove under the door of the dressing room with the agility of a cat. Immediately he took a hard right and raced down the hall toward the exit of the dressing rooms.
This is not happening. "If he makes it out to the store floor, i'm screwed," I thought as I attempted to pull up the jeggings that the woman must have given to me as a joke. As I watched Jack's feet disappear under the stalls it occured to me that I could not give chase with my pants around my knees so I kicked them off and courageously stepped out of the stall. Fear hit me immediately. No Jack.
As I raced down the hall I heard a very familiar voice from inside the last stall.
It dawned on me that Jack was in a closed dressing room with a grown man who was trying on clothes. Khakis from the looks of it. Standing in a t-shirt and boxer briefs, I watched in horror as the door slowly opened and a faceless arm ushered my son out of the dressing room. Not a word was said.
Picking Jack up, I sprinted to my dressing room and threw on my jeans and shoes. Needless to say, I did not stick around and continue to shop. Lesson learned? Do not take a two year old shopping when the dressing room doors fail to go all the way down to the floor...or bring a leash.