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Fifty percent off. I wandered around for too long before realising it was exclusively women's clothing.
One of the mannequins didn't have any hands. If there was anybody with me I would have said "I'm really tired of companies like these setting such unrealistic standards for women to conform to", and then I'd point at the mannequin that has no hands.
They had baby clothes. Babies' clothing is by extension women's clothing, I learned. I stopped to look at them for a while. My brother will be a father within the next few days. His fiance's due date was yesterday. Thoughts of how different my brother's life will soon become ran through my head before quickly being eclipsed by fears that people in my vicinity might think I'm a paedophile. I walked away from the children's clothing.
I got lost and couldn't find the exit. Even though the shop wasn't that big. I rotated where I stood and scanned the room, trying not to look like I was looking at lingerie. I made eye contact with a member of staff. She gave me a look which under normal circumstances I would misconstrue as her conveying that there's a miniscule chance she might be attracted to me. Under these circumstances I interpreted it as her being suspicious of me being a paedophile and turned away. My gaze passed something which I reflexively turned back to look at a second time. A mannequin.
I was attracted to a mannequin. Not a particularly suggestive mannequin. Not a mannequin wearing lingerie. A totally unsexualised mannequin with the same kind of outfit that every mannequin in a shop like this has.
It was something about the way she carried herself. A careless elegance. If she was real she'd probably stand with her arms crossed and her pelvis jutting to one side and it would drive me crazy. The kind of woman that could make me feel masculine by leaning in to me as I put my arm around her waist.
Except she didn't have a face.