Musings of Me

The Billy Goats Gruff

Once upon a time there were three goats. The goats all lived in Atlanta, and had fun frolicking in the shopping malls (not really, but with weddings galore this summer, mall excursions are to be expected).

The littlest goat had a day off from work, so she took the opportunity to find an outfit to wear to the one wedding she was not standing in. As she was skipping through the cheap mall, she decided, on a whim, to go into a tiny boutiquesque store, Paris.

Inside the store, she selected some items that were not yellow taffetta (and therefore not requiring a tanning package). She went to the dressing room, where, sadly, her selections did not pan out. As she approached the saleslady to put the items on the return rack, the Troll came out from behind the customer service desk.

"Roar!" she cried. "You must put the items back!" the littlest goat looked for a return rack. Not seeing one, she asked its location. "No!" Sneered the Troll. "You must replace them on the hangar, and return them all to their places in the display room!"

In shock (for no quality retail store expects this, and prefers to have the professionally-trained minimum -wage drudges fold the clothes) the littlest goat complied, as the Troll followed her around the store to make certain her directions were carried out. The littlest goat then went home and bleated to her older sister the entire saga of her story across the bridge and escaping the Troll.

Middle goat was intrigued. Middle goat was undecided of the truth of the Littlest goat's story, for Middle goat had worked in retail, and would never, ever treat someone so shabbily (even if she wanted to, which she has desired in the past... many times). Middle goat needed an outfit anyway, and while refusing to purchase from a store so rude, decided she would investigate Littlest goat's claim.

The day after the Troll terrorized Littlest goat, Middle goat bravely marched onto the bridge. Middle goat selected a clubbing halter she didn't really care for, and proceeded to the dressing room with littlest goat looking around for the Troll. Soon Littlest goat jabbed Middle goat in the ribs. "There! There she is! Do you think she will be as rude today?"

As the goats approached the dressing-room doors, the Troll stepped out, brazenly eyed Middle goat, and announced in front of everyone, "That will not fit you." (Not even, "that garment runs small," or "that cut/fabric is all wrong." Oh no she di-int). At this point, another saleslady (who certainly would not have fit the top) quickly inhaled and went white. Troll glared. Littlest goat bleated. Middle goat decided to get mad.

Middle goat announced that, yes, she was certain she could fit in the top. Middle goat explained that she knew her size, knew the fabric of which the top was made, and knew the cut was favorable. She explained that even if there was a discrepancy in that particular design's sizing among the line, that it would still fit. Middle goat added that she had no desire to ruin a top she would have to pay for and not be able to wear, so sweetly asked the Troll if she had a larger size in the storage room. Asking for help really pisses Trolls off. And no goat likes being called fat.

Taken aback, the Troll narrowed her eyes and looked at Middle goat again. As Middle goat began to ask Troll if she knew something about junior sizing versus women's sizing, Troll quickly stepped up to Middle goat and wrapped her hands around Middle goat's ribcage. "I am sizing you," she announced. She had not asked permission, nor had given any warning.

Middle goat was shocked. After shaking off the Troll's hands, she thrust the halter top in them and announced she was no longer interested. She coldly told Troll to return the shirt to the rack (pun not intended), turned on her heel and stomped out. (she did note a mother-daughter team on a Prom Dress hunt followed suit. HA)

Middle goat and Littlest goat regrouped by the arcade. Littlest goat assured Middle goat that she was not fat, and Middle goat (after mentally altering her fitness regime) dialed up Big goat. No one survives Big goat*. Especially when Big goat has to deal with two upset smaller goats.

Big goat answered the phone, and listened in amazement as Littlest goat recited the drama. Littlest goat was soothed by Big goat's agreement that the Troll was evil, and that her Troll heart was three sizes too small (meanwhile, Middle goat was still self-conscious, and began to contemplate the joys of a soymilk lifestyle).

Big goat will soon be visiting Paris.
Middle goat did buy soymilk, which she promptly foisted on Cat (who was also disturbed by it). Littlest goat enrolled in a tanning package and immediately roasted herself.
The Troll went home to polish her horns.

*Big goat one day decided she was sick with poor service. She sent letters to every place of business that had ever irritated her (from Taco Bell to JC Penney) and got several conciliatory responses. The best one (determined by popular vote) is when Taco Bell called and asked about her poor experiences. They asked her if she wanted to 'talk about it.'

posted by Jill @ 9:05 AM