View from one side of Diamond Head

I’ve had a series of clothing-related mishaps this holiday. It all started with when I went missing.

To be more precise, it started with a toilet stop in Ala Moana Center (the largest outdoor shopping mall in the world and the fifteenth largest mall in the US). We had just arrived and on our way to finding a bathroom, passed a cookie store which my friend was interested in seeing. It was opposite the bathroom.

We arranged to meet in front of the toilets. I entered one of the largest female washrooms I’ve ever been in. With approximately thirty cubicles, it is also one of the few bathrooms where there was no queue. This made for a surprisingly quick pitstop.

Not seeing my friend right out the front, I did a lap of the lower area, paying particular attention to the cookie shop. Having not found him (and thinking that perhaps I’d misheard our arrangements or tuned out at a critical point – I’m sure I’m not the only one whose mind wanders, particularly in new environments where there’s a lot of distraction…), I headed to Neiman Marcus as I knew this was on his list as well as mine (in my case, I was interested in the Christmas decorations, conveniently, these were on the same level as the menswear).

He wasn’t there.

I moved onto another store.

I received a phone call and heard the relief.

This is the second time I’ve been missing and not realised it.

He’d gone to the cookie store and somehow we missed seeing each other. I’m guessing because we both walked in the same direction. He’d say it’s because I didn’t look properly but then again, he didn’t see me either!

After twenty minutes of waiting, he watched a woman leave the bathroom, collect shopping bags from her husband ,who had been waiting, before he went into the gents. My friend explained that I’d been gone for quite some time and he was worried. He gave her my description and when her husband returned, she entered the bathroom again, calling my name and keeping her eyes out for me while my friend chatted with her husband (we are all shy, retiring types). Turns out the couple are from Sydney and were about to start the eighteen day return cruise.

Obviously I wasn’t there and that’s when he phoned.

From then on we gave very specific meeting and time instructions.

One of the stores I wanted to see was Victoria’s Secret as the version in HK sells the perfume but no underwear. I wanted a proper fitting with the aim of buying some sports bras and day-to-day wear. I knew I would be awhile so told my friend to not rush his shopping at his targeted stores. He was to meet me in Victoria’s Secret once he’d finished.

After having my size determined, I was sent into the change room with a variety of bras. There were at least eight.

Checking my phone, I noticed there was no signal or wifi in the change rooms. Worried about going missing again and not wanting to keep a guy wandering aimlessly around an underwear store, I hurriedly tried on the bras.

Deciding to try the sports ones first, I pulled the crop-top over my head and squeezed my arms though the tight holes while trying to pull the crop part down. Body contorted at seemingly unnatural angles, I finally had it on without breaking too much of a sweat. Probably because the air-conditioning was set to sub-Arctic.

Getting it off was a test of dexterity and patience. It was a workout.

My hand slipped, resulting in my thumbnail collecting my forehead, gouging out some skin and blood then trickling down. I am scarred with a bra-related injury. On my head.

The rest of that mission was a success if that is defined as having no further bra-related injuries. I still don’t have a new sports bra.

Another store, meeting spot and time prearranged and I was off to find some dresses. There were rows upon rows of discounted summer frocks and finding the right size was a challenge.

I took a number of dresses into the fitting rooms.

Time was limited so I needed to be quick. Trying on one dress, I decided it was too big, took it off and pulled on the second. It was a lace cream dress with cream lining which fit quite well. I was considering it and thought I’d decide while trying on the remaining dresses.

Arms at obscure angles behind me, I held the bottom part of the dress with my left hand while using my right to undo the back zip. It was going so well until the position of my hands needed to reverse due to where I’d pulled the zip down to.

My left hand was stuck.

It was actually my bracelet on my left hand that was caught in the lace. It was at such a position that I couldn’t undo any further with my right hand and my left couldn’t move at an angle to reach it either. I vainly tried to undo my bracelet, then to remove it from the lace. Neither approach worked.

I contorted into another position (since I’d limbered up from trying on the bras) yet that didn’t work. I needed assistance.

For a crowded fitting room, there was no one to be seen. No one entered and no one left. I was in a fitting room Twighlight Zone. Finally, someone crossed the invisible barrier and entered, arms laden.

Explaining my situation, she gave me a look as if to say “I can’t believe you did this” to which I gave her my “this could happen to anyone and yes, this kind of thing does seem to be happening to me a bit today though” look as she attempted to untangle the bracelet. I suggested she undo the zip instead and I could fix the rest.

Thankfully she obliged and I was again free.

With numerous other dresses to try on, I looked for the time and found that I had now been missing again, albeit only for three minutes.

Dumping the dresses, I rushed to the meeting spot.

As it stands, I have a scar on my forehead, no sports bras, no dresses and it has now been a few days since I last went unknowingly missing.

* Thanks to The Saints for the title to this post. This was their debut single in 1976 and had absolutely nothing to do with what I’ve just written except the title seemed fitting.