Last week, I found myself inside a Lululemon store changing room, completely trapped in an athletic top.
I thought to myself, this is what it must have felt like to be baby Jessica, the 18-month-old that was trapped in a well for 58 hours.
Oh and I had forgotten to put on deodorant.
Baby Jessica probably forgot too.
I went to Lululemon to use a gift certificate that had been in my wallet for three years. I don’t like to rush this kind of thing. I tried on a bunch of athletic tops. I was looking for one that masked my post four babies stomach but instead I found a lot that accentuated it. Which is slightly different.
As I tried on one particular top, it felt a little snug going on but I wasn’t concerned. These are athletic tops. They have some stretch.
And then I tried to take it off.
There was no stretch.
I tried pulling it down to my waist in some misguided attempt to move it over my butt and down my body.
It didn’t work at all.
I tried to pull it over my head again.
My head had gotten bigger.
And then I started sweating which of course made it completely stick to my body with the suction strength of a 1,000 vacuum cleaners.
Full panic set in. It reminded me of the time a zipper got stuck on one of my boots and my foot started getting so claustrophobic, I almost cut those Steve Madden’s right off me. Obviously, I’m prone to panic in these sort of situations.
I peeked out of the dressing room door.
“Hi! I’m sort of stuck in the top I’m trying on.”
“They run a bit small,” the sales girl informed me about 14 minutes too late. “Try pulling it over your head.”
Really?!! Try pulling it over my head? What does she think I’m doing in here? Trying to levitate myself out of the top?
But I responded with a big smile, “Okay! I’ll give it a go.”
More tugging, pulling, sweating.
A few minutes later I peaked out again…
“Hi. Me again. You know, the one stuck in your top. I hate to bother you. But I’m totally going to need some assistance. Do you offer that sort of service?”
In she came. Her little blonde young self helped wrangle me out of that shirt which must have been mismarked because I’m pretty confident it was a 3T.
Having extricated myself from a web of Lycra, I’m now doing fine.
Just like baby Jessica.