Flashing, fury, and other fitting-room fiascos

How often do you want to try on clothes but find the changing rooms all full, or hopelessly inadequate?

I was doing some shopping and wanted to try on some skinny jeans and a skirt, so I took my pile of clothing and found a dimly lit cupboard, hardly big enough to stand in. I swear, it was smaller than a single wardrobe. I wriggled and squirmed out of my trousers and boots and almost fell out the door. The noises I made as I grunted and muttered sounded like I was in the throes of passion. There was no room for a chair, and only a couple of hooks to hang things. With some pretty frenzied contortions I achieved the impossible, I got the jeans on. But I came out feeling like I had done a round with Mike Tyson.

How about the rooms with a door that exposes your top and bottom half, concealing just the mid-section? Like a saloon in the Wild West, it only needs a gunfight to complete it.

I once lived in Bath in the UK, and London was an easy train ride away. I loved to go to Harrods’s Winter Sale; it had great bargains.

My day’s hunting stalled though when I took the pile to try on, and found a huge communal changing room, full of all shapes and sizes of women. As the dress I wanted was a bare style I discreetly took my bra off and pulled it on. Then I realised I was much too large for the dress. It was really tight!

I tried to pull it back over my head, but it got stuck. I was then like some breast-baring monster without a visible head, careering around the changing room blind and helpless, arms stuck above my head.

“Help!” I cried pathetically, but no one wanted to know. Luckily for me, a saleswoman hearing the commotion came in to save me.

Oh dear, the mirrors. Is it my imagination or are they worse in swimsuit shops? Not that I dare go in those anymore. I like the ones nicely tinted a soft pink, that make me look healthy. Usually though the cold, hard, and cheap lighting makes me look extremely unwell, and the view from both sides is enough to make the diet start immediately.

My other pet hates are curtains with a gap, doors that don’t close, and sales ladies who are too attentive.

“No I do not want any help,” I say for the fifth time, as I try to conceal my wobbly bits from public view. Oh, and add to that the little toddler allowed freedom who pulls the curtains back, then dribbles ice-cream on your clothes.

No wonder online sales are increasing; at least you can try on in privacy.

What has been your worst fitting room experience?