Today I went to Target, where I tried on some clothes. One item I tried on was a dress that looked cute on the hanger, but sort of flight-attendantish once I had it on.

So, reject!

But when I tried to take the dress off, I realized the whole zipper, which ran up the left side of the dress, was pretty much broken. The seam separated, and the handle part was stuck at the top, just beneath my armpit. Can you picture it? My whole side, including part of my bra and the waistband of my underwear, were exposed. And the zipper would not budge.

I tried for several minutes in the dressing room to remedy this situation, but without success. I finally accepted that I would have to exit my stall and explain the situation to the worker at the desk.

"Hmm," she said, reluctantly leaving her seat. Then she stood for several minutes at my armpit, tugging on the zipper, while I tried to hold the gaping dress together with one hand.

I hoped I had remembered to put on deodorant.

Thinking about it made me sweat.

"Um," said the worker, "would you like to stand farther back in the hallway?"

"Sure," I said, grateful. And then, after another minute or two of sweating and worrying about it, I said, "I just don't think it's going to come off."

She mumbled something and tugged on it a little more and took a break to answer the phone -- "Operator! How can I direct your call!" -- and finally called the manager on the walkie talkie.

When the manager came, she examined the zipper for about thirty seconds, and then took her scissors and cut me out of the dress.

Phew.

The humiliation continues, though, because later in the evening, we went to an orientation at Mac's new school, and I accidentally walked in on one of his teachers in the bathroom. THANK THE LORD she was already washing her hands.

When that happened, Dan just made a beeline for another room because standing in my vicinity was JUST TOO EMBARRASSING for him. Such is my lot in life.