Saturday, June 5, 2010

Mannequins Need Love Too

The difference between fiction and reality is that fiction has to make sense.
Tom Clancy



Mannequins Need Love Too
By Kelley Williams

I have a confession to make. I recently molested a mannequin.

I was at the mall the other day to purchase my favorite perfume before meeting up with my friends to see Sex and the City 2, when I got a little distracted. By a shirt. With sparkles and sequins and beads and all kinds of awesomeness. And I HAD to try it on.

But of course the only shirt in my size was on the mannequin – one of those headless, armless, legless ones with the hanger coming out of its neck.

I felt all kinds of bad undressing her in public, but I was without a doubt going to rock that shirt, so my actions were completely justified.

I never made it to the dressing room, however, because I held it up to myself and it was way too big, and did I mention it had sparkles and sequins and beading? Honestly, who wears that?

So then I had to dress the mannequin, which was way harder than undressing her. And much more embarrassing. For the both of us. There was much groping of her lady business just to get the shirt past her butt and hips. And I was all, “I’m so sorry. I should have you dressed in just a minute.”

But it took way longer than a minute, and the groping was getting out of control and my face got red, because, seriously, I’m molesting a mannequin.

And it got worse before it got better. In fact, there was no better. Because I lost my balance a little. And fell forward. Just a little. But just far enough for my lips to Brush. Her. Breast. And the mannequin totally got turned on.

And then I felt like the one who was molested.

“You are such a pervy whore,” I said

To which she replied, “Mannequins need love too.”

“Yeah, no,” I said, “And how are you even talking? You don’t have a face.”

And then I saw the cashier lady reach for the phone to call security. And I was off like a prom dress at a hotel your date’s na├»ve parents paid way too much money for because they want their son and his friends to have a nice place for the post prom party to “eat smores”, “sing Kum Ba Yah” and “watch the sunrise.”

Sigh. I wish I had their naivety. I too was once an innocent. Until I was molested by a mannequin.


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