Lime Death
Last Thursday, right before I shot the video of baby raccoons, I went to a JC Penney to film a video review. It involved prom dresses. I set up a video camera in the dressing room (I know, I know, "what kind of video is this?" I promise, it was totally innocent) and proceeded to put on a bright green chiffon number that from this point on shall be known as Lime Death.
Lime Death was covered in little glittery things, was strapless, was a size too small and had a broken zipper that was permanently about halfway zipped up. But I figured I didn't really need it to look prom-worthy, so I tugged it down over my head, hiked it over the boobs, and forced it down over my hips. It was hideous. If the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Charo got together to design a dress, it would be Lime Death. I didn't even bother trying to lace up the stuff in the back, but I did decide to try and zip it up the rest of the way so the unzipped portion didn't look like bright green bat wings sprouting from my back. The zipper went up, I proceeded to film the bit of the video, then went to take Lime Death off.
Only that zipper? The one that was now zipped all the way up? It didn't budge.
Let me interrupt my tale to tell you about my issue with clothing/fabric. One summer I bought on a tshirt that was a size too small. It squeezed my arms and was too tight and I freaked out and yanked it off and threw it at my sister and swore to never wear it again while wiping sweat away from my face. Sometimes I think my jeans/the blankets/my shirts are eating me, and thrash and panic and wage war against my own clothing. I have cut my way out of shirts before. I think it's some bizarre form of claustrophobia that probably calls for some yet-to-be discovered form of therapy.
And Lime Death was not helping. I forced myself to breathe slowly even as the room seemed to be getting hotter. My palms were getting sweaty and it was hard to get a grip on Lime Death's bodice. I twisted and sucked in and tried to contort my body like the Cirque du Soleil girls do. I shoved it toward my hips, hoping I could get it off that way-- not a chance. Not the tiniest, tiniest, chance. The only solution would be to try and pull Lime Death off over my head.
This presented a problem for several reasons: 1) As any self respecting former prom-going girl knows, you don't wear granny panties and a Wonderbra under your prom dress. You wear a thong and, if necessary, a strapless bra. By this point, I'd opted to shimmy out of the bra in an attempt to get the dress off, but the thong was still in place. 2) I recognized there was a very good chance that I would get my arms stuck above my head and be unable to move, a prospect which terrified me and would render me relatively helpless. 3) I was at the mall alone.
All this combined meant that there was a possibility that I would have to scream for help, avoid having a clothing-claustrophobia panic attack, and beg a disillusioned JC Penney employee to come yank a neon green prom dress made for 14-year-olds off an adult woman who happened to be, for all practical purposes, naked, with a video camera pointing at her.
At this point, I began to reevaluate the need for video blogs, proms, and chiffon in the first place.
However, it wasn't like I had a lot of options, and the glittery-stuff on Lime Death's bodice was beginning to tear into my skin and actually draw blood. So I grabbed the bodice, held my breath, shut my eyes, and yanked toward my shoulders with all the force of one of those guys throwing logs in the StrongMan competitions. Something ripped but my heart was beating so fast that I could not possibly care less. I couldn't see anything--Lime Death was everywhere, crinkling and rustling and trying to eat me alive. With one final desperate yank I felt the bodice tear, and to my relief found fresh air. I threw Lime Death across the room as I collapsed into the complimentary fitting room chair, sweating and panting. Lime Death's skirts slowly deflated, like a dying jellyfish, and it finally sank into a seemingly harmless pile of neon green on the floor.
There was a long rip by the zipper where the fabric had torn. I felt no remorse. No one should want to purchase that monster anyhow.
At which point a JC Penney employee knocked on my door and asked if I needed any additional sizes. I weakly told her no, then said there was something she could get rid of for me. I cautiously put Lime Death on a hanger, shoved it through the door, and looked warily at the pile of pink prom dresses that I needed to put on the for the remainder of the video.
Of course, then I got home and realized that in my struggle with Lime Death, I'd somehow moved the video camera, and all my shots for the rest of the day cut my head off. Rendering the video completely useless. A reshoot is in order. But I won't be wearing any green dresses in that one.
Lime Death was covered in little glittery things, was strapless, was a size too small and had a broken zipper that was permanently about halfway zipped up. But I figured I didn't really need it to look prom-worthy, so I tugged it down over my head, hiked it over the boobs, and forced it down over my hips. It was hideous. If the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Charo got together to design a dress, it would be Lime Death. I didn't even bother trying to lace up the stuff in the back, but I did decide to try and zip it up the rest of the way so the unzipped portion didn't look like bright green bat wings sprouting from my back. The zipper went up, I proceeded to film the bit of the video, then went to take Lime Death off.
Only that zipper? The one that was now zipped all the way up? It didn't budge.
Let me interrupt my tale to tell you about my issue with clothing/fabric. One summer I bought on a tshirt that was a size too small. It squeezed my arms and was too tight and I freaked out and yanked it off and threw it at my sister and swore to never wear it again while wiping sweat away from my face. Sometimes I think my jeans/the blankets/my shirts are eating me, and thrash and panic and wage war against my own clothing. I have cut my way out of shirts before. I think it's some bizarre form of claustrophobia that probably calls for some yet-to-be discovered form of therapy.
And Lime Death was not helping. I forced myself to breathe slowly even as the room seemed to be getting hotter. My palms were getting sweaty and it was hard to get a grip on Lime Death's bodice. I twisted and sucked in and tried to contort my body like the Cirque du Soleil girls do. I shoved it toward my hips, hoping I could get it off that way-- not a chance. Not the tiniest, tiniest, chance. The only solution would be to try and pull Lime Death off over my head.
This presented a problem for several reasons: 1) As any self respecting former prom-going girl knows, you don't wear granny panties and a Wonderbra under your prom dress. You wear a thong and, if necessary, a strapless bra. By this point, I'd opted to shimmy out of the bra in an attempt to get the dress off, but the thong was still in place. 2) I recognized there was a very good chance that I would get my arms stuck above my head and be unable to move, a prospect which terrified me and would render me relatively helpless. 3) I was at the mall alone.
All this combined meant that there was a possibility that I would have to scream for help, avoid having a clothing-claustrophobia panic attack, and beg a disillusioned JC Penney employee to come yank a neon green prom dress made for 14-year-olds off an adult woman who happened to be, for all practical purposes, naked, with a video camera pointing at her.
At this point, I began to reevaluate the need for video blogs, proms, and chiffon in the first place.
However, it wasn't like I had a lot of options, and the glittery-stuff on Lime Death's bodice was beginning to tear into my skin and actually draw blood. So I grabbed the bodice, held my breath, shut my eyes, and yanked toward my shoulders with all the force of one of those guys throwing logs in the StrongMan competitions. Something ripped but my heart was beating so fast that I could not possibly care less. I couldn't see anything--Lime Death was everywhere, crinkling and rustling and trying to eat me alive. With one final desperate yank I felt the bodice tear, and to my relief found fresh air. I threw Lime Death across the room as I collapsed into the complimentary fitting room chair, sweating and panting. Lime Death's skirts slowly deflated, like a dying jellyfish, and it finally sank into a seemingly harmless pile of neon green on the floor.
There was a long rip by the zipper where the fabric had torn. I felt no remorse. No one should want to purchase that monster anyhow.
At which point a JC Penney employee knocked on my door and asked if I needed any additional sizes. I weakly told her no, then said there was something she could get rid of for me. I cautiously put Lime Death on a hanger, shoved it through the door, and looked warily at the pile of pink prom dresses that I needed to put on the for the remainder of the video.
Of course, then I got home and realized that in my struggle with Lime Death, I'd somehow moved the video camera, and all my shots for the rest of the day cut my head off. Rendering the video completely useless. A reshoot is in order. But I won't be wearing any green dresses in that one.