Shop 'til You Drop

"I guess my head is not a size two," I say to Tiffany, as I struggle to put my head through a head-hole on a dress that is already perfectly situated around my waist and thighs.

She giggles, her voice muffled as she tries to extricate herself from a gown she is trying on.

Ahh, shopping. Unlike most girls, I hate it. You can tell by the way I walk past the racks, trailing a finger half-heartedly, moping along by myself as Tiffany scours whichever store we are in for bargains and surprise finds. Or by the way I sometimes fail to wander off on my own and instead shadow Tiffany, clipping her heels or walking into her if she stops suddenly. I am a listless shopper, usually. As in, "lacking energy or enthusiasm," not "without a list." I actually love lists. Especially crossing things off of them.

But dress shopping is fun. I don't claim to be good at it, let's be clear. Sometimes I pick up what I think might be a likely candidate...

"How about this?" I ask Tiffany, smiling brightly.

"Are you kidding?" she answers.

"Yes," I lie. "Totally."

If you can believe it, I am a far better shopper than I am a liar, so I don't fool her or anyone who happens to be stalking the racks nearby.

On our first round, I take six dresses into the dressing room and Tiffany takes eight. We share a room. We almost always do. It saves the trouble of peeking a head out the door and calling for each other repeatedly for a second opinion. Also, trying on dresses is hard. I have a terrible fear of getting stuck. And sometimes we actually do get stuck. Today, for instance, the price tag of a dress Tiffany was trying on got stuck on the tag of her thong. So every time she tried to pull the dress over her head, her thong... well, it was uncomfortable.

The tricky thing about being a lesbian is sometimes Tiffany and I want the same things. This can be awesome, as in, we can share certain clothes and therefore have double the wardrobe. Or this can be terrible, as in, we're getting dressed to go out and we both want to wear the same thing.

At one point I tried on a dress that I loved. It had a low-plunging neck line, right between where my breasts would be, if you could see my breasts.

"I still like it," I said stubbornly. "It shows off my... sternum."

Tiffany liked the dress too. When she tried it on, she gave a little twirl.

"It looks better on me," she smiled.

"But why?" I asked.

"Because it looks good."

Because she has breasts, she meant.

I tried on another dress. The one with the tiny head-hole. I asked Tiffany to help.

"Oh my god," she said, "It's for your arm."

And indeed it was. A one-armed dress.

Who knew?