The Customer is Always Wrong

Next to Doctors, my Sales Ladies are the smartest people on the planet, and much better at giving advise. Today I headed to the wig salon at Princess Margaret Shopping Mall to see what I could find in the way of spa gear. When oncologist gave me the all-clear to return to public areas, my first thought was that I wanted to go to a steam room. My second thought was that I needed something to cover my hair.

'Which Way to the Pool?'

The wig shop offered two options. One was a saucy pink bathing cap with white polka dots and a little bow on the back.  I was ready to wear it home, but the bossy wig lady shook her head. ‘It’s just for pools,’ she said, ‘You’ll melt in the sauna.’ The other option was a turban.  I thought it was fabulous until she snatched it off my head and told me I looked too old.  Then she ordered me to go to a bathing suit store, which was just down the street. I don’t argue with the salespeople in the canceritis world anymore. Whether its wigs, hats, or vitamins, they all know better than I.

I arrived at the store just as it was closing, but the small Asian lady in black trousers kindly allowed me to enter.  Immediately, I was drawn to a plastic torso wearing a lacey brown bra, the most exquisite undergarment I’d ever seen. ‘You like?’ the saleslady asked. Oh yes, I thought, fondling it dreamy. I floated over to the bathing suit rack, admiring a beautiful one-piece belted suit with a stylish clasp. So lovely I gasped. ‘You like my store?’ the lady asked. I nodded. ‘You having mastectomy?’  I looked at her quizzically. She smiled and showed me the flip side of the bra. Each cup was fitted with interior pockets. In fact, everything in her store was designed  so it could be outfitted with pretend boobs.

 

I checked the brown lacey bra. It too had interior pockets. The saleslady smiled happily while steering me towards a stack of pretty pink miniature hat boxes. Inside each was a set of silicone breast forms. She took one out of the box and placed it in the palm of my hand, where it sat pertly, gazing up to me. I was silent. ‘Nice, ay?’ the saleslady said. She plopped another, much lighter, breast form in my other hand, ‘For summer,’ she explained.

I was speechless. Not only had I learnt that bathing caps are adorable, but that lingerie for the boobless is quite fun. I examined the bathing suits more closely and found that not only were they outfitted with fake breasts, but were more stylish than anything I’d seen in regular stores.

The saleslady showed me some camisoles and pointed out the feel of the fabric. She said that she wore them herself, (in spite of her real breasts), because they felt so nice. And sometimes she wore the bras, just because she liked them. Her eyes darted around the room as she hastily unbuttoned her white blouse and held it open, exposing a scrumptious raspberry brassiere. She beamed, and quickly re-buttoned her shirt.

Before I left I asked if she had any stylish headgear for baldies. I pointed to my head, ‘It’s a wig'. She reached up to touch it, ‘Nice!’ Before saying good-bye she said she didn’t have what I wanted, but gave me a quick hug, instead.

I’m still short one turban, but after experiencing such exquisite customer service, I’ll never go to a shopping mall again.