This is how my day started yesterday:
I walked out of the mammogram x-ray room to find an old lady wearing my dress.
Not wearing the same dress that I was wearing.
WEARING. MY. DRESS.
I got up early to get to my annual mammogram before work. Have you had your yearly boob-squish yet? DO SO, PLEASE. I showered and got dressed in my cute Talbots dark red cotton dress. It's sleeveless, but has a shirt-type front, so I wear it to work with a jacket. You know, semi-serious professional that I am.
It's been stupid hot here, as it has been for much of the country, and I was thinking how smart I was to wear an easy-on, easy-off dress, so I'd stay cool and not wrinkle [much]. Planning ahead so that things are perfect - you know me. I packed up my lunch bag, my purse, and my deoderant [because you're not supposed to wear it for the mammogram - evidently the secret behind Secret is that it fucks with radiation - and I knew with the temperature in the 90s and the humidity up there as well, there was no way I could go without it for the day. People would revolt. Or be revolted.]. I drove off, thinking if things went well, I'd only be a couple of minutes late for work.
I got there, figured I should bring my lunch in with me, so it wouldn't spoil [it's seriously that fucking hot], and put on my gown. I put my stuff in the changing room and was called back, congratulating myself on thinking ahead to keep my salad cool and for wearing something that was simple to change in and out of. I was OWNING this mammogram.
After some squishing and flattening, the very nice tech escorted me out and then I went kind of blind. You know that weird dissociated feeling you get when you know something's not right, but you can't quite believe what you're seeing, and you're not even sure what to say?
That was me. For about 2.1 seconds. And then I said,
THAT'S MY DRESS.
The older lady didn't pay attention, just finished putting her stuff in her bag, and the tech said, "What?"
I said, "That lady is wearing my dress. She's wearing my dress." I was pretty close to shrilly repeating this, like Renfield in the asylum nattering on about his master, because I could not wrap my mind around what was happening. I mean, seriously - WTF? WHO PUTS ON SOMEONE ELSE'S CLOTHES AT THE DOCTOR'S OFFICE?
Finally, the older lady noticed what was going on and said, "Oh, I thought the gowns had changed."
YOU MEAN BECAUSE IT WAS RED? AND DIDN'T OPEN ALL THE WAY? AND WASN'T IN THE MOTHERFUCKING BIN OF GOWNS? AND HAD A TALBOT'S TAG? AND WAS A GODDAMN DRESS? THAT I WAS WEARING WHEN YOU SAT NEXT RIGHT NEXT TO ME IN THE WAITING ROOM, YOU STUPID IDIOT?
It's a wonder I didn't collapse or cause a beatdown right there. I'm not kidding. It was close.
I gave serious thought to wearing my gown home, because germs. I ended up pulling on my dress - "It's o.k., honey, I just showered" - and went home and took a Silkwood shower and changed my clothes and debated just burning the dress. Except I like it.
Evidently, so did that lady.