Foiled in my efforts to buy an uber-expensive dress with a designer label, I adjusted my expectations for weight loss reward. Why not just pick a dress I liked, regardless of the label or price tag?
With feverish abandon, I scoured the fashion sections of Pinterest, my green eyeballs glazing over as I scrolled through pages of options. I knew my peepers would achieve laser-like focus as soon as ‘The One’ grazed across my computer screen.
And, that is exactly what happened when I saw this Karen Millen dress:
It. Was. NIRVANA. Form fitting enough to show off how skinny I have become without screaming ‘Trash!” The ideal hues of blue to enhance my fake-red hair and aging fair skin. A flourish that looks more highbrow cocktail affair than swinger orgy party. And, the price tag, even in pounds with shipping from the UK, was a fraction of the cost of the first number.
I was sold. No dissonance. My finger clicked ‘Add to Cart’ on my magic mouse with so much verve I almost shattered its white plastic top.
My trusty Mac sort of hiccuped. The screen went blank for just long enough for me to think buying the dress caused my whole system to crash. I started pounding keys and screaming, “Why? Why?! WHY?!?!?!” just before a small message came up informing me that the site was overhauling its payment processing system and that an associate would be contacting me to take my payment details.
Less than a minute later, I got an email in broken English asking for my credit card number. No reference to the gorgeous dress or information about when it would be shipped. I am susceptible to sequins and high slits, and I’m not afraid of showing my shrunken cleavage on occasion. But, I will NOT contract a nasty virus while *almost* revealing my naughty bits.
I deleted the message, cleaned my cache and scrubbed my brain of said dress. Because, let’s face it, any dress that comes with a possible virus attached canNOT bring good luck to the wearer.