Yesterday, Micah and I traveled to the big city so I could shop for a new swimsuit. Let’s just say that after giving birth to a child, my old suits are a little {ahem} inappropriate. It was time for a new swimsuit.

I hadn’t exactly been looking forward to the task, but white water rafting and log flumes are looming in my future, and it was now or never. I chose now.

Because I had to return a pair of sandals to Target, I decided to start there, and after getting Micah settled into her stroller, I promptly selected about 207 items to try on my post-baby body. I made my way to the fitting room, where the attendant looked horrified at the mountain of clothes I had piled onto the stroller’s handles. I assured her that I would only take six items into the room at a time. She handed me my number tag, and I wheeled the stroller into the narrow walkway between the dressing rooms.

Which is where I discovered a few things.

First: the stroller wouldn’t fit through the stall door.

Second: if I somehow managed to wrangle the stroller through the door, I wouldn’t fit in the stall. Which would defeat the purpose of getting the stroller into a fitting room.

Third: the handicapped stall was occupied.

I decided to wait it out. When a little blonde girl about as big as my pinkie finger finally left the handicapped fitting room, I wheeled the stroller in and settled into the task of finding a flattering suit. Imagine my shock when the first tankini I tried on was a winner! I was even more pleased to discover I needed a smaller size.

I flipped through the pile of swimsuits I had hauled into the fitting room to find the smaller size {because I always take at least two sizes of the same item into a dressing room with me}, but I was out of luck. So, I pulled on one of the swimsuit coverups I had selected, left behind my clothes, and strolled out of the dressing room. I quickly retrieved the size I needed, made my way back to the fitting rooms, wheeled the stroller into the hallway, and opened the door of the handicapped stall.

And startled a half-dressed college girl.

Oops.

I quickly closed the door and asked tentatively, “Umm…are my clothes still in there?”

“I guess so,” she replied. “I’ll be out in a minute and switch to another room.”

“I’m so sorry!” I answered. “I didn’t realize you were in there.”

And then the awkward silence followed, during which I wondered, “What is it with these girls taking the handicapped stall??”

When she hurriedly exited the stall with an armload of bikinis, I avoided her eyes and scurried back inside the only room that would hold both me and the stroller. I shed the too-big suit and tried on the smaller size.

It fit! Yay for finding an appropriate swimsuit so quickly! But I had other items to try on, so I took off the suit and laid it on the bench.

Which is when I discovered the poor girl’s undergarments. That’s right. Undergarments. Plural. Bra and Panties.

As if I hadn’t already exchanged enough awkwardness with the girl, now I had to tell her that she left her underwear behind.

Who in the world tries on bikinis without their underwear?? The thought makes me shudder. Seriously. Who does that??

The crazier thing, when I knocked on the girl’s stall and told her she had left her underwear behind, she denied it!

“No, I didn’t,” she said. “I’m wearing my panties.”

Umm…no you’re not, I thought to myself. I know because they’re in a pile in my dressing room.

“Maybe I left my bra in there,” she said.

Yes, you did, I thought. And your panties!

“Well, you’ll probably want your stuff before you leave. Just wanted to let you know that it was in there,” I muttered.

I tried to finish up and get out of there before she did, but I was unsuccessful. When we met in the hallway, again, I stepped aside and let her grab her undergarments. Plural.

Funny thing. The panties that weren’t hers disappeared from the bench.

Now why would she go and take someone else’s underwear?

I’m just saying.

Don’t you wish you were me? Needless to say, when I got home, I promptly threw my new suit into the washing machine. Wouldn’t you?

Until next time, grace and peace.