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She-Hulk! from superherotimes.com

I’m telling you this story in full confidence that you will not tell anyone else (and yes, in posting this to the internet, I know I am telling anyone). As graduation approaches, preceded by a plethora of pre-commencement events and ceremonies, I found that I was in need of a serious shopping spree. Specifically, I needed dresses… and a lot of them. After going to four department stores with limited luck (I bought one overpriced sleeveless party dress that’s going to take a little more than a lot of double-sided sticky skin tape to keep up..if you’ve never used skin tape, you cannot even imagine how unpleasant the task of applying and, even more so, removing , the tape is), I decided to venture outside the comfort zone.

So in my time of dress desperation, I decided to go to a store that screams teeny bopper. Pushing my way through racks of multi-colored zebra-print hoodies, I found racks and racks of neon prom dresses. Tacky? Most definitely. But like I said, I already struck out at all the logical places, so I grabbed a handful of highlighter pinks, blues and yellows, and pressed on to the 1 x 1 foot dressing stall, designed in such a way that the door only covers your torso, leaving your legs and top of your head in plain view. I tried on a neon-blue number, with cheap little craft store gems glue-gunned to the neckline. I pulled the zipper up the back, caught one look in the mirror, and decided that I’d be better off wearing my business suit than this. I started to undo the zipped from the back, it snagged. Damnit. I twisted the dress around and tried to pull. Nothing. Not even a budge. I tried to pull the dress over my head. Nope. Tried to push it past my hips. Yeah right. So there I was, stuck in this taffeta nightmare.  

And I did what everyone reading this would do in the same situation; I called my mother into the miniature stall. She tried. We tried. And oh my God, that evil little zipper wouldn’t budge. I began to panick. I could not spend the rest of my life in this horror show of neon and lace. So I tried to rip my way out of it… I turned it inside out (while it was still on me….) and began to rip on the lining and rip out the zipper. With a certain amount of violence, I finally freed myself from the blue jaws of death. Twenty-five minutes later.  

So then I did what any upright citizen would do, I put the dress on the rack and booked it out of there– with my parents in tow. The entire time my mother was looking behind us, half expecting some skinny high-school girl in ripped denim to be chasing us through the mall.

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