The dress looks nice on you

There is a growing list of businesses that I feel unable to visit again due to reasons of pride, or lack thereof. They are all establishments that I have fled away from tail firmly between legs. For example there is a certain cocktail bar in Amsterdam that I feel I cannot visit again unless heavily disguised. Then there’s the flower shop where I asked for a bouquet of flowers only to be informed that all their flowers were plastic, had I not noticed? Also in Amsterdam there is a restaurant where a slight scene was made after waiting almost an hour for the food to arrive. One could have grumbled and left with dignity but I felt the need to illustrate my plight to other customers in a high-pitched over-excited voice. In my defence we had almost finished the wine by that time and hadn’t received any food to soak it up.

The latest to add to my collection is a clothes shop near work. One might wonder how I managed to embarrass myself in a clothes shop, especially during working hours when absolutely no booze was taken. Well, where there’s a Conortje there’s a way to embarrass I always say. There I was, browsing the shelves with my Occasionally Sober Friend when my eye caught a pair of particularly fetching jeans. There was a sale on and the jeans not only looked great but were also ridiculously cheap. I quickly found my size, eyed them up and down for imperfections and raced over to the assistant before anyone else could get them. May I please try these on? I enquired politely. The assistant then proceeded to contort her face into a painful exhibition of confusion. Ummm yes I suppose she said in barely a whisper. Right then! I said loudly, with the growing confidence that I was going to look stunning within minutes. Looking around I couldn’t see where the changing rooms were so I had to ask Ms Confusion. She pointed the way, without a sound, still wearing the same expression that was now bordering on distress. Ignoring her I marched towards the changing rooms, jeans under my arm.

Halfway there the assistant found she could take it no longer and shrieked out Sir! I turned around as she continued you do realise that they are ladies’ jeans? And immediately it was my turn to do facial acrobatics with a growing bright red backdrop. I weighed up my options – I could pretend I knew all along and was just experimenting in cross-dressing – I could argue that she was wrong – I could simply have said really? I’d like to try them all the same. There are many things I could have done. What I decided to do however was utter a shrill No! as I dropped the jeans and fled the shop as fast as my little legs would carry me, scooping my OSF up in the ensuing gust of wind I left behind.