DISCLAIMER: The following story may seem a little inappropriate to some of my readers – by no fault of my own, of course – but this experience was so awkward, I just had to tell you about it!
Also, if you’re a female working with all males, this is a fine example of a conversation you should not initiate in the office.
Guillaume: How was your lunch?
Jillian: Ok, I just had the weirdest experience.
Poopy: What happened?
Jillian: I went to a boutique to look for a dress for New Year’s Eve. I walked into the store and started looking around at all of these sequined dresses and this guy – he turned out to be the store owner – approached me and asked how he could help. I explained that I was looking for a NYE dress and that I wanted something sparkly and kind of sexy, but not too over-the-top.
“Take off your coat,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
“Take off your coat!” he repeated. “Let me see what I’m working with!”
So, I took off my coat and he looked me up and down.
“Turn around,” he commanded. “I need to see the back.”
I hesitated, then turned around, a little embarrassed.
“Ok. Ok! I see you, girl! This is good. I have the perfect dresses for you. Go in the fitting room and take off your clothes.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, startled.
“Girl, go in the fitting room!” he said. “I’ll be right there.”
I walked over to the fitting room and sat down, keeping my clothes on. A second later, he showed up with four shiny, sequined dresses for me to try on. Two of them were really cute, but two of them were a little too much – and by that I mean a little too little – for my taste.
“I don’t know about those two,” I said, pointing to the ones in his right hand, “but the other two could work.”
“Just try them all on, girl,” he coaxed. “I know what looks good on you. Trust me.”
“Umm…” I wondered. “Ok, but they’re just not really what I had in mind.”
“Ok. Work with me here, babygirl,” he said. “Imagine this.”
He turned me to face the mirror, then he stood behind me, making eye contact through the mirror. He waved his hand up above his head, gesturing as he created the following scene.
“Imagine this. It’s New Year’s Eve. You’re at a baller party. Music bumpin’, champagne flowin’. You’re the sexiest girl there, dancin’ your ass off. Hair flowin’, kick-ass heels. The stroke of midnight. 10… 9… 8… the ball drops. Can you picture it?”
“I’m following you,” I said.
“3… 2… 1… Now as the ball drops,” he continued. “Do you want your dress droppin’ with it, or do you want your man pullin’ it up from behind?”
Poopy: Pulling it up.
Guillaume: Definitely. Please say you said “pulling it up.”
I rolled my eyes.
Jillian: So I said, “Excuse me?”
And he said, “I said, do you want your boy droppin’ your dress down, or do you want him pullin’ it up?”
“Uhh… I mean,” I stuttered. “I guess… I mean, neither. We’re at a party surrounded by people! That’s inappropriate.”
Poopy: What?! What kind of answer is that?
Jillian: The correct answer! What kind of question was that?
Guillaume: A damn good one. So, did you buy a dress?
Jillian: Well, I felt a little awkward after that, but he really did know what he was doing, because he brought me the cutest blue sequined dress. Thankfully, since we had built such a good rapport by that point, I talked him into knocking $50 off the price. Win-win!
Guillaume: So, is it a drop-down or a pull-up?
Poopy: Yeah, we’ll see about that at the stroke of midnight!
Guillaume: That reminds me of New Year’s a couple years ago. There was this bangin’ girl, and we’d had a few drinks, and before you knew it —
Jillian: Ok! That’s enough! Enough! No more! No more!
Guillaume: …and then my daughter was born in September.