So I’ve got two jobs, blah blah blah. On Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays I work 8:30 a.m. to 10 p.m. I work the first job until 2 p.m. and then the other until 10. Great, glad we’re all together on this. That is a 13-and-a-half hour day, and usually I have no lunch break. Actually, I never do. So imagine my surprise today when I got out of the first job at 1:15. Somehow that 45-minute break seemed like a real siesta, so I decided to run over to Saks and look for a dress to wear to a wedding next Friday. No big deal.

It’s all kind of a blur now, but I think if you had seen me in there, it would have looked something like Nicolas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas when he hits up the liquor store. I was just grabbing things off racks in a mad dash to the dressing room. Dresses were flying off shelves. If it was under $200 it was in my hands. I know, there is approximately ONE dress at Saks that is under $200 and it’s a size 14 fuscia ruched tube dress. Whatever, minor detail. My two little eyes were just peering over a mountain of dresses that I had indiscriminately grabbed on the way to the fitting room.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed but it’s been about 100 degrees in New York this week, so by the time I actually got to the “trying the dresses on” portion of the show, I was sweating and pretty smelly. Oh, and by this point I had 10 minutes to get back to work. So I’m just throwing dresses over my head, nixing them, and throwing them on the floor. But finally, the last dress, when I was at my stickiest and ready to pass out. Oh, it was perfect. Black, strapless, simple, perfect fit. I did a twirl in the mirror to show my reflection how happy I was.

But of course, the inevitable…shamblesville. I hear this “zzzz” noise behind me, turn around, and realize that the dress’ zipper has busted and come undone from the bottom up. So the top of the zipper is still closed, but the rest of the back of the dress is a gaping hole. No worries, I thought. I’ll just take it off and fix it. But the zipper is stuck, and I can’t get it over my head. Let’s just say the next 5-to-10 minutes did nothing for my sweating situation. Finally, totally at a loss, I had to walk out into the store and ask a sales lady to rip it off me. There were several of them in a cluster and they just stared me down, Pretty Woman-style, saying, “You got yourself stuck.” Actually, bitches, your dress broke and trapped me in this sweaty designer chinese finger cuffs.

So the dress was totally ruined because she ripped the zipper right off when she tore it from my body in front of many well coiffed shoppers, and I had to walk away and leave it lying there, empty-handed, riddled with body odor, and about half an hour late for work. I’m going back tomorrow, though.