So a girl walks into a Brooks Brothers store in Des Moines, IA.
I was looking for a black turtleneck. I’m here filming the PBS show and I needed a black turtleneck. I wanted it to be thin enough to wear under a jacket and nothing that would look like poo after two washes. Des Moines is many things; fashion mecca is not one of them. But there’s a serviceable Brooks Brothers store in a mall on the west side of town, so I paid it a visit yesterday.
Wouldn’t you know it, bam, right there on a table, the exact item I was after. A lucky day. To congratulate myself on something I had nothing to do with and to pay my respects to the Msrs. Brooks, I thought I’d try on the darling jumper I saw in the window. A kind, 50-something fellow with a sibilant “s” helped me to the dressing room.
I came out to examine things in the three-way mirror; I liked the dress very much, but I had an undergarment issue. The brassiere I had on yesterday was not proper for it, but I could see with the right one, the outfit was positively dishy. The clerk came into the fitting room area and gave me an encouraging nod.
“Oh, that’s nice!”
“Well, thanks,” I said, eyeing the shoulders. “I like it, too. I do need a different bra with it, but it’s great.”
“Woah!” he said, “TMI!”
In case you are reading this post from your home under a rock, “TMI” is short for “too much information.” It’s become a noun. Example: your officemate tells you his hemorrhoids are flaring. This is “a TMI.” Another example: your mother tells you, “Your dad was all over me last night, honey! What a naughty boy he is, sometimes!” This is a TMI.
But I ask you: Is a fitting room attendant or retail clerk in a clothing store receiving too much information when a customer remarks that with the right foundation garment, the item of clothing she’s considering will be fabulous? For your consideration, I offer what I believe would have been TMI’s in the fitting room of Brooks Brothers yesterday:
TMI No. 1: “My breasts are swollen, but when they aren’t, this jumper will be great.”
TMI No. 2: “I’m a pig. I’m a pig and I hate myself. I ate an entire cheesecake last night. God! My husband is such a [redacted]! I hate him. I hate him and I hate myself. This is cute, though.”
TMI No. 3: “Is this eczema or something else?”
Thoughts? Anyone? Did I go to far?