Avoiding the dressing room monitor

I was shopping for workout clothes -- now that I actually have time to exercise -- at one of those stores that discounts last year's name-brand clothing. I loaded up my shopping cart with two sizes of every shirt, sports bra and pant that might appeal to me and headed for the dressing room. Signs at the door told me to park my cart. I vaguely noticed the cards numbering one through eight, but nobody stopped me as I carried about 30 items through the door. I had arrived before the dressing room monitor started her shift.

I weeded out a third of the items -- the ones that absolutely didn't fit -- and took them out of my little room to the empty racks near the door. A woman took them out of my hands, asking casually if any of them worked. "Nope, not these," I said, then headed back to my little room. I was a little puzzled when she started counting the hangers. I ruled out another third, the clothes that weren't that comfortable. "Not these ones, either," I said, handing her another pile. Once again, she started counting. I went back to my little room to decide what I was going to purchase out of the clothes that were left.

I emerged with six items to buy and handed the rest to the dressing room monitor who again began counting hangers. As I walked out of the dressing room reveling in my shopping success, those numbered cards began to haunt me. I wandered through the store a bit longer, checking out the children's clothing, household goods and more women's clothing. I considered trying on a pair of pajamas. But then I remembered the dressing room monitor. Better to forget that kicky spring skirt, too.