I played with my measuring tape. “My name’s Tori, by the way. What’s yours?”
“Mackenzie,” she said, yanking her dress and sports bra over her head. Fur and hair popped off her clothes, floating above us. “Er, sorry. I shed almost as much as my cat,” she muttered, waving the debris away with her shirt.
“It’s fine.” I smiled. “My sister has a cat. She got a black one, so it blends in with her outfits.”
Gosh, as if this lady cared about my sister or her cat.
Mackenzie chuckled. “Makes sense to me. My girl’s orange, so until I decide to dress like a human traffic cone, I should pack a lint brush in my bag.”
“What’s your cat’s name?” I asked, gently reaching around her bust with the measuring tape.
“Peaches,” she said warmly.
“Aw, that’s so cute,” I said, clasping the tape properly and imagining a fuzzy, plump feline.
“She is. Her kittens are adorable too, just as mischievous as their mom,” she said.
“That makes them all the cuter, doesn’t it?”
“I guess it does.” She thrust her shoulders back, accidentally tapping my fingertips with her bared chest.
In any other context, this’d be weird. But it was a bonding moment. I stifled a giggle at the cat-lover camaraderie and my customer’s budding confidence.
“So, why don’t you like ‘normal’ bras?” I dared to ask.
She squirmed. “I tend to be active.”
“Chasing kittens?” I sympathized, lowering the tape under her bust.
“Yes. I also teach yoga, which means I sweat and twist. In regular bras, everything starts to dig in. Or chafe.” She winced and touched her shoulder as if tending to a phantom wound.
“Hmm. Maybe you have eczema,” I noted.
“What?” She recoiled.
“Oh, it’s not scary. It basically means sensitive skin,” I said. Gosh, she was here for a bra, not a medical opinion. “Cotton fabrics help the skin ‘breathe’ better. I’ll be back with a few options in your size, okay?”
She nodded.
Professional guidance flexed a different muscle at The Closette. Here, it was all about confidence: in my knowledge, and how to use our products to make our customers look and feel their best.
I brought Mackenzie a few different bras to check her preferred coverage, strap size, and material. She tried them on, and I adjusted the straps for her as we chatted about her meeting her boyfriend’s extended family.
“I don’t want anything popping out,” she worried, jiggling in a bralette.
“Don’t want to give Grandpa a heart attack?”
She laughed and shook her head. “That might put a damper on the relationship.”
“Well, hopefully they can focus on getting to know you, instead. I’m sure you’ll make a good impression.”
She smoothed her ponytail. “My boyfriend says as long as I’m myself, they’ll love me. Just like he does.”
“Aw.” My heart fluttered. That was true romance. Reassurance.
“I still want to dress to impress, though,” she said.
“Of course.” I slung the measuring tape around my neck. “Let’s find a bra that’ll bring out another wonderful side of you for special occasions.”
