Blame it on the Spanks!

If you happen to work at Target, or you know someone who works at Target or you have a chance to go to the Christmas party at Target, then you just may see me on the annual Christmas montage of Stupid Customer Tricks.

I have been searching high and low for a Mother of the Groom dress with painful results. I’ve been all over Chicago, traipsed through every dress shop between Sterling and Monroe, WI and I almost even purchased a dress in Monroe, but got cold feet when  it came time to order.  “Is there a problem?” the very patient clerk inquired and I broke into tears, “It’s just too fluffy for me,” I sobbed and walked out of the shop.  So, it was a last attempt moment when I discovered, right in my own yard, that Don Galani has exactly what I was looking for.  I had thought they were just a prom and pageant dress shop, but it turns out that they have a very elegant Special Occasion line.  Ok, commercial over.

I waited a full week after my initial visit to ponder the dress and then, decided Monday, it was time.  But first, I needed a new set of Spanks.

I figured if I was going to be making this rather pricey purchase, I wanted to feel good doing it.  So, I went to the gym, showered, DID MY HAIR, PUT ON MAKE-UP and donned a cute red sweater tunic with black leggings and even cuter boots.  Then, I skipped my cute little self to the Spanks store and bought a shiny, new set of Spanks and put them on in the store.  Did I mention they were shiny?  And slippery?  I redressed, admired my compacted shape in the mirror and left, skipping my cute, little, newly compacted self to Target to pick up a few items before heading to (cue the singing angels) DON GALANI.

I was pushing the cart around the Target, looking for odds and ends when I noticed it was getting harder to walk. But, I looked so cute, I disregarded the friction at my knees and headed to the front of the store to check out.  Did I mention that Spanks are both shiny and slippery?  Yeah, so I’m standing in the front aisle, the grand aisle in Target and I aim my cart for the shortest line, take a step and trip, forcing my cart forward into the person ahead of me.  As I balance myself on the cart, the person in front of me, who is, apparently, not in the holiday spirit, turns to stare at me.  I followed her eyes as she looked me up and down.  And there it was, the cause of my walking friction, the reason I tripped, and the impetus for what happened next.  Clearly, the shiny, slippery spanks which hold me in so nicely had no grip on my leggings and they had slowly descended to my ankles as I sashayed around the store, wrapped and caught in the buckles of my cute boots and caused my momentary trip into the person in front of me, who stood horrified and speechless.  I looked at the black leggings bunched up around my boots and did the only thing I could do in that moment.  I reached down, grabbed the waistband and pulled those suckers all the way back up, lifting the tunic in the process and exposing about everything underneath.  Oddly, no one but the lady in front of me even seemed to notice this whole scene had occurred, but I know better.  I worked retail, I know where the cameras are located.  And sure enough, located right behind me was a Target camera.  What else could I do?  I turned around and waved, mouthing the words, Merry Christmas!

As for the dress, I did get to Don Galani and I did order it.  But, I will NOT be wearing panty hose at the wedding, it’s too dangerous.


Coltman is the author of two books.  Is It Just Me? or Is Everyone a Little Nuts! is a humor book based on her blog.  Her most recent book, In The Name Of The Father, is a suspense/thriller that reviewers have called a true page-turner.  Both books are available through amazon and Coltman's own website.

Say Yes To The Dress

I have spent a good amount of time extolling the huge differences between men and women.  I have waxed poetic on the XY chromosome and it’s unique set of qualities.  I have proclaimed my womanhood loud and proud, especially having lived with a house full of men.  After all of that, I have to sheepishly admit, I think I have been faking it.

Oh sure, I get my hair done, have manicures and pedicures, am drawn to handbags and shoes and love my share of jewelry.  I thought THAT alone qualified me for the girly girl club.  However, since my newly appointed role as MOG (Mother of the groom), I’ve had to face the very frightening reality that I don’t know nothin bout being no girl.  

Here’s the thing. . .unlike most of my female friends, I hate to shop.  Loathe it, in fact.  I pride myself on the fact that I usually know what I am looking for, where I want to go to get said item, and generally have a coupon when I go.  In and out.  The power shopping days where we girls all head to the mall, downtown Chicago or Galena or Lake Geneva are loads of fun. . .for the first block.  Then, I’m done. But, I amble along amiably, quietly checking my watch and wondering when everyone else wants to cease with the shopping and go get a drink.  

Now, faced with the daunting task of finding the perfect dress for my son’s wedding, I allowed the whole summer to pass knowing I had fall and winter to do that kind of shopping.  Fall had to gall to arrive so, unable to put if off further, I finally made the intrepid trip into a bridal salon.  I very quietly asked to see what they had in their “Mother Of” section and headed over there to peruse the selection.  Apparently people who work in those kind of shops are trained to actually help their clientele.  Not one but TWO overly energetic and enthusiastic women swarmed me, bombarding me with questions for which I did not know the answer, “What color are you thinking?  Formal? Tea length? Satin? Jacket? What dress size are you looking for?  

Size?  Well it depends. . .at Walmart I am an L but at Target I generally go for XL.  Is that what she meant?  Blinded by sequins, I sat down, while the ladies, completely unaware of my mental state, continued to pull dresses from their racks and hold them out for my approval. Well my head simply started spinning and  I wasn’t able to escape until the phone rang and one of the women went to answer it while the other went to see what was in back.  I hightailed it out to the car in search of a paper bag in which to breathe.  

No amount of estrogen can undo all the years of a testosterone driven household and the damage it has done to my “girl”.  Thankfully, the Bride and the MOB have consented to help me through this process. . .they know how to power shop. I might need some wine and Xanax but, if they are patient with me, I may discover my girl after all of these years.  I think I kind of miss her. 

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