When the King is the Queen and the Queen is the King

Finished my gift shopping a few days ago, but there's still a lot I have to do before my Rebeccamas Eve party. After exhausting all of my non-mall options, I admitted defeat and headed to the dreaded bastion of suck at 9 p.m. Department stores open until midnight! In the children's clothing section overheard a salewoman lecturing a little boy on how it was important to do well in school else the king will be the queen and the queen will be the king and then it'll be all messed up. Not sure what exactly she meant, but felt pretty sure I should be offended. While she rang up Gideon's party shirt, I told her no gift box because it was for him to wear Sunday. She asked where he was and I replied at home in bed. She said that was good because children were like men when it came to shopping, they all hated it. Out of politeness I sort of agreed, but added that my husband liked shopping (which is true). Her eyes grew big and said "Well that's a different kind of man." Got the impression she was subtly (or perhaps not so subtly) outing my husband.

After that, in the lingerie department, I asked a different saleswoman if there were any smooth red camisoles to wear under a form fitting and slightly too low cut dress. She asked what shade of red was the dress. I explained the dress was black, but I thought a red cami would be more festive. Her eyes lit up and she called me a vixen.

Found a black and red cami, but I thought better. Bought some hosiery and got the hell out of there before another sales associate spoke to me.