Should Stop Giving Herself A Good Dressing Down

(Being a big military town, it is fairly common to have women come into our bridal store to shop for military events like the yearly ball. A customer comes in with her husband.)

Customer: “I just had a baby and my body hasn’t quite bounced back yet.”

Husband: *rolls eyes* “Hun, you look great. Really. Please stop saying that.”

Customer: *ignoring husband* “But it is the annual ball, so I need to look nice. I was thinking of something in black, since black is slimming, but I’m not sure of my size at this point because of the baby.”

Me: “I would be happy to measure you but you look to be about a size 10. What did you have in mind for style?”

Customer: “Probably something very simple.”

(The customer walks through the non-bridal section with me to look over the styles and proceeds to pick every dress with NO shape she finds.)

Me: “Are you sure you don’t want to try on something with a little more shape to it? You have a better figure than you let on.”

Husband: “Yes. PLEASE!”

Customer: “No. These are fine. I mean, I really need to work out and flatten this pooch down.” *grabs stomach*

(The customer has literally grimaced at everything she has tried on, not liking anything. Her husband has tried desperately to explain how beautiful she is, while fidgeting in an armchair next to the fitting area.)

Me: *sigh* “Okay. Let me see what else we have.”

Customer: “Thanks. I know there’s only so much you can do.”

Me: *coming up with a plan* “Oh! We just got this dress in a couple days ago and I haven’t gotten to see it on anyone. Would you mind so much just trying it on and humoring me?”

(The dress is a mermaid cut halter dress, VERY Marilyn Monroe but floor length. Perfect for a woman with real curves.)

Customer: “Ooh, um, sure.”

(The customer smiles awkwardly, clearly not wanting to be rude and say ‘no.’ As she goes into the fitting room I look at her husband, wink, and smile. The customer walks out of the fitting room looking drop-dead 50s-goddess gorgeous.)

Customer: “I don’t kn—”

Husband: *knocks over chair jumping up* “THIS ONE! WE’LL TAKE THIS ONE!” *under his breath* “…and after the ball we can make a sibling for the baby.”