From: [email protected]
Subject: Nurse Jones goes shopping
Date: 12 Jan 93 05:49:25 GMT
From Nurse Jones,
[Another post I wrote during the summer -- when I was incomunicado
thanks to that nosy sysop.]
Summer, 1992
When you have a bummer of a week, there is only one solution:
Go shopping.
Hit the malls. Hit the used clothing stores. Buy. Buy everything. We
came, we saw, we bought. Veni, Vidi, Visa.
Hats: I finally found a brown fedora that fits me. I look like Al
Capone. Well, maybe not. Jay says I look like a bumpy mushroom.
Got some really splashy costume jewelery, too: rhinestone necklace,
earrings and bracelet. I didn't really need the tiara, but it seemed a
shame to break up the set. And one of those useless little pillbox
hats with the mesh veils that people wore in the 50's.
Swimsuits.
Aha, you say. What would Anita and Dangerous Maggie Jones do at a
store that specializes in swimwear?
Aha, you might *well* say.
I got a black one-piece that has less total acreage than the average
pancake. And, if I do say so myself...
Anita spent a fortune and got two scraps of fluorescent orange
spandex; on the hanger it looked like one of those day-glo elastic
thingies that windsurfers use to hold on their sunglasses. You have to
put someone in it just to verify that it's really a swimsuit. I mean,
it could be anything. You could floss with it. Do they make
fluorescent dental floss?
Anyway, we did it again.
I think it turned into the Miss Lewd Swimsuit competition. I think we
kind of got carried away, too.
We are both illegal in the state of Florida.
Or so I hear.
We made quite a pair, parading around the store. First of all, they
won't let you try on a suit unless you wear panties under it. Which I
guess is a philosophy I agree with in principle, but it can cause
problems. To wit: the rest of this post.
We had (the four of us) planned on going shopping and then straight to
the beach in the afternoon. The boys went to Radio Shack while Neets
and I went to the swimshop. We were wearing big loose t- shirts and
cutoffs and running shoes, and after a lot of horsing around in the
fitting room we decided which ones we wanted. We both looked
ridiculous wearing panties underneath them. That was the cause of all
the horsing around.
And I still say none of this was my fault. In fact, I had planned on a
more conservative suit (one that didn't show quite so much cheek) but
we tried these on and she dared me to get mine and I said I would if
she would, and she did so I did, too.
They were a bit skimpy in certain selected areas. Areas selected by
men, no doubt. Jay said they should have a 7 day waiting period for
suits like that. He's such a card. I don't believe we actually wore
them at the beach. Not a state beach, so technically we were legal.
Once we had decided to buy them, we put them on (without panties,
gasp) to wear them to the beach so we wouldn't have to change in the
car. Makes perfect sense, right? I think that was the beginning of the
end. There was fierce giggling and shooshing in the changing room, and
while I'm getting into mine Anita sticks her head out of the booth and
asks for a shoehorn. Ha ha very funny. It isn't *that* tight. It was
just a little complicated. There are too many straps, too many holes,
and too many possibilities for places to put various parts of one's
self. I could have figured it out on my own without any help, thankyou
very much, if certain people would just give me a chance.
Shoehorn. Hmph.
More screeches and general horsing around during which she stretches
part of my suit out and threatens to let snap against one of my
favorite organs. So naturally I push her out from behind the curtain.
Well, I ask you: What else *could* I do? And she ends up pulling the
curtain practically off the curtain rod, for crissakes. There were
curtain rings everywhere. Sheesh. She's an animal. I can't take her
anywhere.
So after Neets has completely destroyed the place and we changed to
another booth so we could get some privacy and so we wouldn't get
caught, this saleswoman comes back, ostensibly to find out if we need
any help, although I suspect she was more concerned about the remains
of the curtain on her changing booth, one end of which Neets had tried
to drape artistically over a coathanger to hold it in place, more or
less.
Less, I have to admit. As a completely objective observer.
So there we are in our no-longer sanitary swimsuits and Neets is
chasing me around a relatively undestroyed booth with one of those
coathangers with the two clothse-clamps on them that are spaced at a
convenient internipple distance, and I see the sales- woman's feet
under the curtain. I don't know if she was out there gathering
evidence for the prosecution or if she was afraid to enter, or if she
was trying to remember the number for 911 or *what*, but there I was,
firmly covering one breast with each hand, cringing on top of this
bench thing against the wall, and Neets is standing there threatening
me with this coathanger, and we freeze and become suddenly completely
and magically quiet, waiting to see if she would go away or if she had
happened to notice that her changing room looked like downtown
Beiruit. So naturally the woman decides it must be safe and sticks her
head in and asks rather pointedly, I thought, if we need any help.
So Neets hands her the coathanger and asks the woman if she knows how
to use this thing.
Of course, the woman assumed Neets meant she needed help putting the
rejected swimsuits back on the hangers, but that was not the first
thing that sprang into my mind.
What do you call it when someone says something and *knows* it will
mean one thing to one person and something completely different to the
other? Not a double entendre. Maybe two single entendres?
Anyway, from my perch up on the bench, I snorted involuntarily in an
abortive attempt to not laugh, so Neets looks at me as though I were
something the FDA had rejected and says, "Margaret! Stop making that
noise. It's disgusting."
I could have died. Like, suddenly all this was *my* fault?
Neets turns to the woman, all sweetness, and says, perfectly
seriously, "I'm sorry, Miss. She's been this way ever since the
accident at the finishing school. Her parents are sueing for damages."
My eyes bugged out and I squeaked. I was trying so hard to keep a
straight face, I was practically vibrating. I think I sprained
internal organs. Tears ran. Lips were bitten. Neets looked as calm as
could be. As though she really expected the woman to believe my
behaviour was the result of criminal negligence on the part of some
finishing school.
She knows I wouldn't know a finishing school if it jumped up and bit
me in the ass. I don't even know if they *have* finishing schools
anymore. And there I was bursting, trying not to laugh, looking like a
complete fool. I think I even screamed without opening my mouth. And
there Neets was, cool as a cucumber.
And speaking of cucumbers, this is not the first time she's done this
to me. The week before this episode we had been shopping for groceries
and Neets *completely* grossed me out and embarrassed me at the cash
register when she arrives with a bag of cucumbers and the cashier asks
her if she weighed them and she says No, but my friend here measured
them.
You just don't know what it's *like*. It's *awful* the way she's
always doing this to me. I don't know how many different flavors of
carbonated beverages I have blown out through my nose because of the
outrageous things she says that she knows perfectly well nobody else
will understand. Every time I end up looking like a complete idiot
because I'm the only one laughing and wiping root beer off my chin.
She waits until I have a mouthful, too. I know she does.
Anyway, back in the changing booth. The woman looked at both of us
suspiciously and it finally registered with her that we were *not*
wearing panties under the swimsuits. Aha. Finally, a concrete offense
she could get her teeth into. She informed us that we would have to
buy the swimsuits since we had put them on without proper sanitary
precautions. And there are no returns, she added with a look of
triumphant satisfaction.
We were going to take them anyway, but I offered to boil myself if it
would make her feel safer, and she offered to call the security guard,
so we nodded solemnly and said we'd definitely be taking them and did
she mind terribly if we looked in her mirror if we promised to stand
at a safe distance and not give ourselves any diseases?
After we had paid for them, she said. Some people have no sense of
humor.
So anyway, out we come, resplendent in our daring new suits only to
discover that the cashier is staring at us.
"And what are *you* looking at? Are we breaking *another* rule?" I ask
him. Innocently. Sweetly. No, really.
"Um... customers don't usually come out of the changing room wearing
suits..."
Neets just *had* to open her big mouth: "Well, she was trying it on
and she sort of *snapped* out."
"O, ha ha very funny you should talk," I say, bringing my rapier wit
to bear on the situation.
So Neets says to me, completely innocently, "Me? Really? Do you think
it's too tight?"
I swear to God: the thing is so tiny, from the back it looks like she
isn't wearing anything at all.
"Too tight?!? If it were, how in the world would anyone know? I mean,
isn't tight kind of a theoretical concept here?"
"Oh, sure, like you're really a qualified judge." She points at the
clerk and a customer, both standing there staring at us. "Let's ask
them what they think."
So I'm thinking why bother: we have to buy them anyway, right?
But they were busy sort of half-listening to the saleswoman while she
tried to explain the situation (about us having to buy the suits and
all) to the clerk, so in the meantime we take a look in the big full-
length mirror. Well, you can't really see yourself properly in those
tiny little changing rooms anyway.
While we were cavorting our full lengths in front of the mirrors, the
woman got pissed off and told the clerk -- who seemed to be more
interested in watching us than in listening to her story -- that she
thought he would probably prefer to handle this sale; she left him in
charge and stumped off to count safety pins or something. Funny how
some people can make you feel better just by leaving. I'm sure we made
her feel better, too, when we left.
And of course Neets just couldn't resist sharing part of her extensive
collection of rude Italian hand gestures with the woman as she
departed. Fortunately the woman's back was turned. Neets is such an
animal.
So anyway, we horsed around some more, adjusting ourselves in front of
the mirrors, and after a minute we both began to notice that the
cashier was, well, still reacting to us.
I mean, we could sort of tell that he was heterosexual. Probably still
is. I don't think we changed that very much. And the customer (also of
the male persuasion) was standing near the cash register with a
swimsuit he wanted to buy. At least, he had it out on the counter (the
*swimsuit*, the *swimsuit*. Jesus you people have dirty minds). But
neither of them was doing anything, just standing there.
So I asked him if there were any rules against us going back to the
changing rooms to get our stuff as long as we were going to pay for
the suits. He says no and twitches spasmodically.
So we turn our backs and saunter back to sift through the wreckage for
our stuff. Jay keeps telling me I have one of the world's great asses
(jokes about shoehorns aside), but Anita's is spectacular. At least
I've managed to keep the cellulite off, but it's obvious Neets has
never had to even think about it. Anyway, when we came back, they were
*still* standing there gawping.
I guess you don't see that sort of thing in a shopping mall every day.
So there we are, wearing our suits carrying shopping bags, our T's,
shoes, purses, with me wearing a fedora and Neets in a cap with
"Caterpillar" on the front.
She leans down and whispers to me that the guy doesn't seem to realize
he has a customer. In fact, they *both* seemed to be double parked in
the twilight zone. We did a bit more obscene sniggering and plumped
our stuff on the counter and turned around for another look in the
mirrors. We were standing right next to the two guys:
I was next to the customer ... Anita was standing by the shopkeeper...
I turned to face him but looked
back over my shoulder at the
mirror. That suit showed (shows)
a little (lot) too much cleavage.
Front and back. In fact the word
cleavage is no longer applicable
in this situation. Escapage, maybe.
But Shoehorn? Hmph. Really.
Anita stood with her back to the
"Which do you like best?" I say. shopkeeper. He couldn't take his
eyes off her ass. It IS perfect.
"Um, yours," he says to my Without looking at him, she says,
chest. "I think you have a customer."
So I look around and with my "Uh," he quips, looking at me.
most innocent expression,
which really is very innocent "No, *him*," she says, pointing him
(no, really) and I say, "would at the customer, "the one with his
that be the right...or the left?" shorts out on the counter."
(I can't believe I would be so (God, she's such a bitch...)
crude. It's all Neets' fault...)
Customer and attendant look
at each other, Siamese twits
joined at the libido...
"Uh, I can wait," says the customer.
Anita looks at him soulfully and says, "Gee, thanks, because I don't
know if I can." Now I ask you: was that necessary?
I look over my shoulder at the mirror and say, "Well, I like *mine*."
"I've *always* liked yours," says Anita. She has a filthy sense of
humor, but there you are. What can you do?
There was a long, long silence while we ignore everything but the
mirrors. "Uh, will that be all, ma'm?"
"Why? Isn't that enough? Really: there isn't much more..." See what I
mean? Filthy.
"Excuse me?" The poor innocent wasn't following her train of thought.
Well, I wouldn't either. Who knows *where* it's been.
"Why? What did you do?" says Neets, clarifying things not at all.
He gave up trying to follow her. "Shall I ring them, um, up?"
"You mean the suits?"
"Uh, yeah..."
"I guess so. That woman said we'd have to take them."
"Huh?"
"It's The Law," I explained, getting into the act. "How about this
thing? Do you have a key or something?" There were these gizmos to
catch shoplifters locked on the suits.
Nods and swallows. "Yes. Ma'm." The four of us stand there looking at
each other. The silence grows more uncomfortable. For them.
"Uh, would you like a bag for that...? Or something?"
"No. I think we'll be wearing them."
"Oh. Uh...." He holds out the key for me to unlock the
shopliftercatcher. He looks like he's trying to stay at a safe
distance.
My hands are full of purses and shopping bags so I stick my hip out at
him and say "Be a dear and do it for me..."
Men are so cute when they blush.
He tried to hand the key to Neets, who didn't make a move to take it
even though her arms weren't full of anything.
"Do your customers have to do *everything* themselves?" She presented
her backside to him. I don't believe she did that. Really, she's
awful, sometimes.
I had put my junk back on the counter and was getting into my T-shirt
when she does this to the poor fellow. I look out from inside the head
hole and watch him blush purple. She was smiling to herself, the
bitch. Smirking, really. She's so lewd. I really can't take her
anywhere.
Well I mean, really. Such a display in public.
I mean, in the first place I wonder what she'd have done if it hadn't
been on the waistband. What if it had been on the, um, Other Part? Jay
says I could explain the concept with topology. Or string theory, or
something. Jay is always so technical. What he means is, there are
only so many parts to lock one of those gizmos on, and if I can use a
technical topological term, what if it had been locked on the crotch?
And in the second place, I wonder what *he* would have done. Probably
taken it off, the letch. People can be so disgusting.
And in the third place there is even less back on that suit than there
is on mine so she shouldn't have done that to the poor guy in the
first place. Plus her ass (see above) is the kind that the Pope would
kick a hole in a Vatican stained glass window just to get a look at.
Sorry about that dangling preposition I stuck on. There.
His hands were shaking and he tried very very hard not to touch her.
As though she were radioactive or something. Men are so silly. He was
trying to get this plastic key thing in a hole in the
shopliftercatcher, and I think maybe that got him all excited. Or
maybe he was just nervous. There was a vein pulsing where his necktie
was too tight.
She says over her shoulder, "I hope you take Visa."
He tried to say something, but changed his mind and just swallowed
convulsively and nodded his head. He looked like he wanted to cry.
So I put my junk on the counter and rummage around. Present cards, me
first, then I start putting on my reboks while he takes Anita's card.
God, I love credit cards. Jay says I have no concept whatsoever of a
budget, but I figure if he thinks it's so important then he ought to
borrow a little each month and save *that*.
He admitted that made perfect sense. I'm surprised he didn't think of
it himself.
Anyway, we were all dressed by the time the clerk was through ringing
up Anita; Jay and Tom look in, and Jay says, "Are you ready?"
We look at each other...
"*I'm* ready..." "*I'm* ready..."
Anita's eyes really sparkle when she's trying hard not to laugh. My
eyes were bugging out, too.
Anita looks at the shopkeeper and says, "Are we ready?"
"Jesus," he says, and blushes some more.
He handed her card back. I think he was in love.
Bitch.
We turned and put our arms around each other's waists and Tom and Jay
joined us on either side, all four of us walking arm in arm in arm in
arm. Just as we got to the door, we stopped and looked back (of course
they were watching) and then Anita and I looked at each other. We
kissed each other right on the lips. In public. In broad daylight for
the first time. It was just a quick smooch, but obviously more than a
sisterly peck. Then we looked back. Still watching.
And Neets, the bitch, pulled the back of my t-shirt up so the guys got
a last view of my, um, departing panorama. I swatted her hand away,
and as we rounded the corner, I heard the customer say, "Oh, shit..."
Tom says, "What was all that about?"
"We'll show you when we get to the beach."
-*-
I love the South.
So anyway, that was my first public demonstration of affection for
Neets....
Nurse Jones,
camping
in the
wilderness.
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