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Nurse Jones Goes Shopping
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Subject: Nurse Jones goes shopping
>From Nurse Jones,
[Another post I wrote during the summer -- when I was
incomunicado thanks to that nosy sysop.]
Summer, 1992
When you have a bummer of a week, there is only one solution:
Go shopping.
Hit the malls. Hit the used clothing stores. Buy. Buy everything.
We came, we saw, we bought. Veni, Vidi, Visa.
Hats: I finally found a brown fedora that fits me. I look like Al
Capone. Well, maybe not. Jay says I look like a bumpy mushroom.
Got some really splashy costume jewelery, too: rhinestone
necklace, earrings and bracelet. I didn't really need the tiara,
but it seemed a shame to break up the set. And one of those
useless little pillbox hats with the mesh veils that people wore
in the 50's.
Swimsuits.
Aha, you say. What would Anita and Dangerous Maggie Jones do at a
store that specializes in swimwear?
Aha, you might *well* say.
I got a black one-piece that has less total acreage than the average
pancake. And, if I do say so myself...
Anita spent a fortune and got two scraps of fluorescent orange
spandex; on the hanger it looked like one of those day-glo
elastic thingies that windsurfers use to hold on their
sunglasses. You have to put someone in it just to verify that
it's really a swimsuit. I mean, it could be anything. You could
floss with it. Do they make fluorescent dental floss?
Anyway, we did it again.
I think it turned into the Miss Lewd Swimsuit competition. I think we
kind of got carried away, too.
We are both illegal in the state of Florida.
Or so I hear.
We made quite a pair, parading around the store. First of all, they
won't let you try on a suit unless you wear panties under it. Which I
guess is a philosophy I agree with in principle, but it can cause
problems. To wit: the rest of this post.
We had (the four of us) planned on going shopping and then straight to
the beach in the afternoon. The boys went to Radio Shack while
Neets and I went to the swimshop. We were wearing big loose t-
shirts and cutoffs and running shoes, and after a lot of horsing
around in the fitting room we decided which ones we wanted. We
both looked ridiculous wearing panties underneath them. That was
the cause of all the horsing around.
And I still say none of this was my fault. In fact, I had planned
on a more conservative suit (one that didn't show quite so much
cheek) but we tried these on and she dared me to get mine and I
said I would if she would, and she did so I did, too.
They were a bit skimpy in certain selected areas. Areas selected
by men, no doubt. Jay said they should have a 7 day waiting
period for suits like that. He's such a card. I don't believe we
actually wore them at the beach. Not a state beach, so
technically we were legal.
Once we had decided to buy them, we put them on (without panties,
gasp) to wear them to the beach so we wouldn't have to change in
the car. Makes perfect sense, right? I think that was the
beginning of the end. There was fierce giggling and shooshing in
the changing room, and while I'm getting into mine Anita sticks
her head out of the booth and asks for a shoehorn. Ha ha very
funny. It isn't *that* tight. It was just a little complicated.
There are too many straps, too many holes, and too many
possibilities for places to put various parts of one's self. I
could have figured it out on my own without any help, thankyou
very much, if certain people would just give me a chance.
Shoehorn. Hmph.
More screeches and general horsing around during which she
stretches part of my suit out and threatens to let snap
against one of my favorite organs. So naturally I push her out
from behind the curtain. Well, I ask you: What else *could* I do?
And she ends up pulling the curtain practically off the curtain
rod, for crissakes. There were curtain rings everywhere. Sheesh.
She's an animal. I can't take her anywhere.
So after Neets has completely destroyed the place and we changed
to another booth so we could get some privacy and so we wouldn't
get caught, this saleswoman comes back, ostensibly to find out if
we need any help, although I suspect she was more concerned about
the remains of the curtain on her changing booth, one end of
which Neets had tried to drape artistically over a coathanger to
hold it in place, more or less.
Less, I have to admit. As a completely objective observer.
So there we are in our no-longer sanitary swimsuits and Neets is
chasing me around a relatively undestroyed booth with one of
those coathangers with the two clothse-clamps on them that are
spaced at a convenient internipple distance, and I see the sales-
woman's feet under the curtain. I don't know if she was out there
gathering evidence for the prosecution or if she was afraid to
enter, or if she was trying to remember the number for 911 or
*what*, but there I was, firmly covering one breast with each
hand, cringing on top of this bench thing against the wall, and
Neets is standing there threatening me with this coathanger, and
we freeze and become suddenly completely and magically quiet,
waiting to see if she would go away or if she had happened to
notice that her changing room looked like downtown Beiruit. So
naturally the woman decides it must be safe and sticks her head
in and asks rather pointedly, I thought, if we need any help.
So Neets hands her the coathanger and asks the woman if she knows
how to use this thing.
Of course, the woman assumed Neets meant she needed help putting the
rejected swimsuits back on the hangers, but that was not the first
thing that sprang into my mind.
What do you call it when someone says something and *knows* it will
mean one thing to one person and something completely different
to the other? Not a double entendre. Maybe two single entendres?
Anyway, from my perch up on the bench, I snorted involuntarily in
an abortive attempt to not laugh, so Neets looks at me as though
I were something the FDA had rejected and says, "Margaret! Stop
making that noise. It's disgusting."
I could have died. Like, suddenly all this was *my* fault?
Neets turns to the woman, all sweetness, and says, perfectly
seriously, "I'm sorry, Miss. She's been this way ever since
the accident at the finishing school. Her parents are sueing for
damages."
My eyes bugged out and I squeaked. I was trying sohard to keep a
straight face, I was practically vibrating. I think I sprained
internal organs. Tears ran. Lips were bitten. Neets looked as
calm as could be. As though she really expected the woman to
believe my behaviour was the result of criminal negligence on the
part of some finishing school.
She knows I wouldn't know a finishing school if it jumped up and
bit me in the ass. I don't even know if they *have* finishing
schools anymore. And there I was bursting, trying not to laugh,
looking like a complete fool. I think I even screamed without
opening my mouth. And there Neets was, cool as a cucumber.
And speaking of cucumbers, this is not the first time she's done
this to me. The week before this episode we had been shopping
for groceries and Neets *completely* grossed me out and
embarrassed me at the cash register when she arrives with a bag
of cucumbers and the cashier asks her if she weighed them and she
says No, but my friend here measured them.
You just don't know what it's *like*. It's *awful* the way she's
always doing this to me. I don't know how many different flavors
of carbonated beverages I have blown out through my nose because
of the outrageous things she says that she knows perfectly well
nobody else will understand. Every time I end up looking like a
complete idiot because I'm the only one laughing and wiping root
beer off my chin. She waits until I have a mouthful, too. I know
she does.
Anyway, back in the changing booth. The woman looked at both of
us suspiciously and it finally registered with her that we were
*not* wearing panties under the swimsuits. Aha. Finally, a
concrete offense she could get her teeth into. She informed us
that we would have to buy the swimsuits since we had put them on
without proper sanitary precautions. And there are no returns,
she added with a look of triumphant satisfaction.
We were going to take them anyway, but I offered to boil myself
if it would make her feel safer, and she offered to call the
security guard, so we nodded solemnly and said we'd definitely
be taking them and did she mind terribly if we looked in her
mirror if we promised to stand at a safe distance and not give
ourselves any diseases?
After we had paid for them, she said. Some people have no sense
of humor.
So anyway, out we come, resplendent in our daring new suits
only to discover that the cashier is staring at us.
"And what are *you* looking at? Are we breaking *another* rule?"
I ask him. Innocently. Sweetly. No, really.
"Um... customers don't usually come out of the changing room
wearing suits..."
Neets just *had* to open her big mouth: "Well, she was trying
it on and she sort of *snapped* out."
"O, ha ha very funny you should talk," I say, bringing my rapier
wit to bear on the situation.
So Neets says to me, completely innocently, "Me? Really? Do you
think it's too tight?"
I swear to God: the thing is so tiny, from the back it looks
like she isn't wearing anything at all.
"Too tight?!? If it were, how in the world would anyone know? I
mean, isn't tight kind of a theoretical concept here?"
"Oh, sure, like you're really a qualified judge." She points at
the clerk and a customer, both standing there staring at us.
"Let's ask them what they think."
So I'm thinking why bother: we have to buy them anyway, right?
But they were busy sort of half-listening to the saleswoman
while she tried to explain the situation (about us having to buy
the suits and all) to the clerk, so in the meantime we take a
look in the big full-length mirror. Well, you can't really see
yourself properly in those tiny little changing rooms anyway.
While we were cavorting our full lengths in front of the mirrors,
the woman got pissed off and told the clerk -- who seemed to be
more interested in watching us than in listening to her story --
that she thought he would probably prefer to handle this sale;
she left him in charge and stumped off to count safety pins or
something. Funny how some people can make you feel better just by
leaving. I'm sure we made her feel better, too, when we left.
And of course Neets just couldn't resist sharing part of her
extensive collection of rude Italian hand gestures with the woman
as she departed. Fortunately the woman's back was turned. Neets
is such an animal.
So anyway, we horsed around some more, adjusting ourselves in
front of the mirrors, and after a minute we both began to notice
that the cashier was, well, still reacting to us.
I mean, we could sort of tell that he was heterosexual. Probably
still is. I don't think we changed that very much. And the
customer (also of the male persuasion) was standing near the cash
register with a swimsuit he wanted to buy. At least, he had it out
on the counter (the *swimsuit*, the *swimsuit*. Jesus you people
have dirty minds). But neither of them was doing anything, just
standing there.
So I asked him if there were any rules against us going back to
the changing rooms to get our stuff as long as we were going to
pay for the suits. He says no and twitches spasmodically.
So we turn our backs and saunter back to sift through the
wreckage for our stuff. Jay keeps telling me I have one of the
world's great asses (jokes about shoehorns aside), but Anita's is
spectacular. At least I've managed to keep the cellulite off, but
it's obvious Neets has never had to even think about it. Anyway,
when we came back, they were *still* standing there gawping.
I guess you don't see that sort of thing in a shopping mall every
day.
So there we are, wearing our suits carrying shopping bags, our T's,
shoes, purses, with me wearing a fedora and Neets in a cap with
"Caterpillar" on the front.
She leans down and whispers to me that the guy doesn't seem to
realize he has a customer. In fact, they *both* seemed to be
double parked in the twilight zone. We did a bit more obscene
sniggering and plumped our stuff on the counter and turned around
for another look in the mirrors. We were standing right next to
the two guys:
I was next to the customer ... Anita was standing by the shopkeeper...
I turned to face him but looked
back over my shoulder at the
mirror. That suit showed (shows)
a little (lot) too much cleavage.
Front and back. In fact the word
cleavage is no longer applicable
in this situation. Escapage, maybe.
But Shoehorn? Hmph. Really.
Anita stood with her back to the
"Which do you like best?" I say. shopkeeper. He couldn't take his
eyes off her ass. It IS perfect.
"Um, yours," he says to my Without looking at him, she says,
chest. "I think you have a customer."
So I look around and with my "Uh," he quips, looking at me.
most innocent expression,
which really is very innocent "No, *him*," she says, pointing him
(no, really) and I say, "would at the customer, "the one with his
that be the right...or the left?" shorts out on the counter."
(I can't believe I would be so (God, she's such a bitch...)
crude. It's all Neets' fault...)
Customer and attendant look
at each other, Siamese twits
joined at the libido...
"Uh, I can wait," says the customer.
Anita looks at him soulfully and says, "Gee, thanks, because I don't
know if I can." Now I ask you: was that necessary?
I look over my shoulder at the mirror and say, "Well, I like *mine*."
"I've *always* liked yours," says Anita. She has a filthy sense of
humor, but there you are. What can you do?
There was a long, long silence while we ignore everything but the
mirrors. "Uh, will that be all, ma'm?"
"Why? Isn't that enough? Really: there isn't much more..." See
what I mean? Filthy.
"Excuse me?" The poor innocent wasn't following her train of thought.
Well, I wouldn't either. Who knows *where* it's been.
"Why? What did you do?" says Neets, clarifying things not at all.
He gave up trying to follow her. "Shall I ring them, um, up?"
"You mean the suits?"
"Uh, yeah..."
"I guess so. That woman said we'd have to take them."
"Huh?"
"It's The Law," I explained, getting into the act. "How about this
thing? Do you have a key or something?" There were these gizmos to catch
shoplifters locked on the suits.
Nods and swallows. "Yes. Ma'm." The four of us stand there looking at
each other. The silence grows more uncomfortable. For them.
"Uh, would you like a bag for that...? Or something?"
"No. I think we'll be wearing them."
"Oh. Uh...." He holds out the key for me to unlock the shopliftercatcher.
He looks like he's trying to stay at a safe distance.
My hands are full of purses and shopping bags so I stick my hip out at
him and say "Be a dear and do it for me..."
Men are so cute when they blush.
He tried to hand the key to Neets, who didn't make a move to take it
even though her arms weren't full of anything.
"Do your customers have to do *everything* themselves?" She presented
her backside to him. I don't believe she did that. Really, she's
awful, sometimes.
I had put my junk back on the counter and was getting into my T-shirt
when she does this to the poor fellow. I look out from inside the head
hole and watch him blush purple. She was smiling to herself, the bitch.
Smirking, really. She's so lewd. I really can't take her anywhere.
Well I mean, really. Such a display in public.
I mean, in the first place I wonder what she'd have done if it
hadn't been on the waistband. What if it had been on the, um,
Other Part? Jay says I could explain the concept with topology.
Or string theory, or something. Jay is always so technical. What
he means is, there are only so many parts to lock one of those
gizmos on, and if I can use a technical topological term, what if
it had been locked on the crotch?
And in the second place, I wonder what *he* would have done. Probably
taken it off, the letch. People can be so disgusting.
And in the third place there is even less back on that suit than there
is on mine so she shouldn't have done that to the poor guy in the first
place. Plus her ass (see above) is the kind that the Pope would
kick a hole in a Vatican stained glass window just to get a look
at.
Sorry about that dangling preposition I stuck on. There.
His hands were shaking and he tried very very hard not to touch
her. As though she were radioactive or something. Men are so
silly. He was trying to get this plastic key thing in a hole in
the shopliftercatcher, and I think maybe that got him all
excited. Or maybe he was just nervous. There was a vein pulsing
where his necktie was too tight.
She says over her shoulder, "I hope you take Visa."
He tried to say something, but changed his mind and just
swallowed convulsively and nodded his head. He looked like he
wanted to cry.
So I put my junk on the counter and rummage around. Present cards, me
first, then I start putting on my reboks while he takes Anita's card.
God, I love credit cards. Jay says I have no concept whatsoever of
a budget, but I figure if he thinks it's so important then he
ought to borrow a little each month and save *that*.
He admitted that made perfect sense. I'm surprised he didn't
think of it himself.
Anyway, we were all dressed by the time the clerk was through
ringing up Anita; Jay and Tom look in, and Jay says, "Are you
ready?"
We look at each other...
"*I'm* ready..." "*I'm* ready..."
Anita's eyes really sparkle when she's trying hard not to laugh. My eyes
were bugging out, too.
Anita looks at the shopkeeper and says, "Are we ready?"
"Jesus," he says, and blushes some more.
He handed her card back. I think he was in love.
Bitch.
We turned and put our arms around each other's waists and Tom and
Jay joined us on either side, all four of us walking arm in arm
in arm in arm. Just as we got to the door, we stopped and looked
back (of course they were watching) and then Anita and I looked
at each other. We kissed each other right on the lips. In public.
In broad daylight for the first time. It was just a quick smooch,
but obviously more than a sisterly peck. Then we looked back.
Still watching.
And Neets, the bitch, pulled the back of my t-shirt up so the
guys got a last view of my, um, departing panorama. I swatted her
hand away, and as we rounded the corner, I heard the customer
say, "Oh, shit..."
Tom says, "What was all that about?"
"We'll show you when we get to the beach."
-*-
I love the South.
So anyway, that was my first public demonstration of affection for
Neets....
Nurse Jones,
camping
in the
wilderness.
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