Stuff I should tell Amy

I was going to post about hummingbirds or broken air conditioners, but c'mon -- I've done that too much over the lifetime of this blog.

Instead, let me tell you a story that I keep forgetting to tell Amy.

I went to a store to return a skirt.

That afternoon, I had already purchased one small (but bigger, fancier, and quieter) window air conditioning unit to replace the small window unit that died that morning in my living room.

And the afternoon before that, I had traded in old, unwanted DVD's for fresh, used DVD's. And I got some necessary things (like khakis and foundation garments) at Kohl's. In fact, I even went to a favorite chain restaurant and had the world's best salad. (Bonefish Grill's house salad has sublime citrus herb dressing and a perfect little half-cylinder of heart of palm. Delicious!!!)

In any case, I was feeling smug and well-organized, so I took a skirt with a receipt back to a store for a cash refund. I had read all the rules on the receipt and was prepared to buy a well-deserved cup of iced chai with the proceeds.

Wesley and I got in line at the service counter, with our bag of skirt and receipt. There were two customers in front of us and one customer behind us. I stood there chatting with Wesley and the girl in line behind us for a few minutes.

Then a cashier from another line came and said to us, "I can help a customer over here, if you like."

Darn it! I believed him. Foolish, foolish me! I stepped out of line with my bag -- and my husband -- and then I heard the security guard behind me telling the inviting cashier, "These are returns. You can't handle that."

AWWWWWWWW!!!!

I turned around, with Wesley hard on my heels, and I got in at the end of the line.

Fortunately, that really nice girl [previously] behind me said, "Naw, nothing gained, nothing lost. You go ahead and get back in front of me."

What a nice girl!!!! And they say chivalry is dead. HA, I say! HA!!!!

So I got back in line, thanking the girl behind me, and I continued waiting. While I was waiting, I couldn't help craning my neck around so I could see new merchandise that had come in while I was trying on poorly fitting skirts at home. I told Wesley this store was like a siren call, and I wanted to shop. The girl behind me agreed. Wesley disagreed and told me to keep my eye on the prize. I said my eye WAS on the prize and the prize said "Liz Claiborne remaindered 85% off retail." And Wesley had the gall to tell me that those clothes were not my size; those clothes were size 4's. I couldn't see sizes from our spot in line at the service counter, but I had to assume that he was right. I mean, after all, I couldn't return a skirt, buy a cup of iced chai, AND get a remaindered Liz Claiborne blouse, could I? Or could I?

I looked up at the service counter cashier, who was still checking out a girl in front of me who was buying roughly $800 worth of toddler jeans. She had flat blonde hair and a nose ring. And she was wearing a pretty black and white sleeveless tunic top with a black fabric flower on the right lapel.

At least. It looked like a pretty tunic with a fabric flower. At a profile, it was a completely acceptable and even pretty and fashionable outfit. Black. With white. And a black flower.

Then she turned and folded some toddler pants for the customer, and I was facing her head on.

That's when I discovered the depths and breadths of that cashier's cleavage.

It was SPECTACULAR.

It was HUGE.

It was JIGGLY.

And it was right there, at the top of the scoop neck of that seemingly innocuous black-and-white sleeveless tunic top, jiggling just above the line, and almost ready to spill over into the real world of returned skirts, remaindered Liz Claiborne blouses, torn scarves, and designer toddler jeans.

I mean, I had to keep myself from gasping out loud. I was so alarmed and so sure she was about to spill out of her top, I had to hold my breath and turn away from the disaster that was sure to follow.

I turned... and I met Wesley's eyes.

I widened my eyes.

I tried not to speak aloud of the impending disaster there at the service counter cash register.

Wesley knew in the space of a millisecond what was causing me to turn red and not speak aloud.

He also did not look at the cleavage nor speak aloud of impending doom. But he furthermore had to subdue his laughter, which was darned close to exploding now that I finally knew what was going inside that tunic. And doubtless, that gal's bra. Which had to been about breach at any moment, anyway.

Oh, the restraint we showed! We discussed cutting boards and shoes! We talked about iced chai and double shots of espresso! We even managed to ask, "Do we need to go to the pet store and get Doris some doggie biscuits?" Oh, no! No, we do not! We need to get through this line without seeing some serious boob spillage, that's what we needed to experience!!!!!

I honestly cannot tell you how the exchange of the rejected skirt for cash went. I was trying not to look anyone in the eye or in the cleavage the whole time, which made it really hard to concentrate on the business at hand. To be honest, I do not know if the cashier gave me all my money back. I am not sure I even care. I'm just glad I wasn't there when those things made a break for freedom.

See, I don't see things like that often. Was it on purpose? Did she mean to frighten everyone with a half-mile radius of her burgeoning cleavage? Or was it by accident? I mean, honestly, at a profile, that top was perfectly acceptable and modest. It was only when you faced her that it became an exercise in desperately searching for something else to see.