I was regularly horrified shopping with my mum in my teenage years because she would always hum along to the muzak playing in whatever store we were in. Quite loudly. Ssssshh! I'd say.

Feeling like the ultimate American princess, I drove my new truck to the Hillsdale Shopping Mall yesterday to find the few remaining bits and pieces I need for my outfit, perhaps get some keys cut and buy some large household items I don't really need.

After negotiating the mini-cityscape that is the "Complex" to find a car park, I headed straight for the lingerie department at Nordstrom. (Henrietta the tailor had advised me to get upstanding, all-encompassing underwear to wear for my fitting, and the event itself.) I was expecting a few matronly women to be available to assist me with a proper fitting.

Unfortunately for me, all the ladies girls with the measuring tapes were around 20, b-cups and pretty. I slinked over to the flannel pyjama bottoms, trying to spy an older woman around. No luck. Moving to my natural habitat of Active Wear, my surveillance continued. Still no luck. The girls were flitting about, smiling, looking perky. No fucking way.

I moved to the hosiery department, purchased some panythose and some new socks. Thought to myself You've come all the way to fucking Hillsdale. You'll never see these people again (probably), so just suck it up!

Couldn't. Went to a couple of other stores, tried on some stuff. Didn't fit well (too big). Saw a Greek Orthodox priest sitting on a bench in the bright marble atrium (the photo I didn't take).

I would have liked some humming in my ear, something to the tune of you're beautiful... keep going.