There she was againóevery womanís nightmare when mall shopping.
I eyed her from a safe distance.
Her black smock, red collagen lips and pearly whites were a dead give-a-way. So was her arsenal of perfume bottles that lurked on the counter ready to attack the next unsuspecting victim. After the last time Bambi accosted me, I got serious, signed up for Karate and armed myself with my own spray.
I hope sheís fond of pepper.
Not only did she gag me with an overdose of fragrance, she managed to chain me to her chair for a makeover without my consent. I screamed like a lunatic for Security, but the retired cop in the handbag department only mustered a chilling, evil laugh from afar while he munched on his Dunkiní donuts.
Thatís ok. Heíll get his.
Now, Iím one who likes to smell luscious, but a light spritz of perfume is enough for me. I can understand if I just returned from dumpster diving and smelled questionable, but come on now, when my gold pin started to melt, it was proof she had gone too far.
I was an innocent victim just trying to make my way to the shoe department for a sale. Who knew the short cut would render me a blind, choking Tammy Fay Baker? No one deserves that. I cried for the better part of two hours straight.
The experience was frightening.
I was convinced it would take a while in therapy to get over my ordeal. Since Iíve realized my experience also threatens fellow female shoppers, itís necessary for me to put the fear behind immediately and take action for the sake of women around the globe.
If Bambi goes nozzle happy on my next trip to the mall, she and her bottle of Passion donít stand a chance. I plan to immobilize her and that vicious bottle of poison for the long term. If my hot pepper spray doesnít send her down for the count, I could use my high heels and fifty-pound handbag as a backup plan. A broken arch and a couple of black eyes should keep her away from her counter for a while.
See if she ever messes with me again.
A week should give me enough time to conjure a concrete plan to abolish all department store counter girls. This would take an effort like moving mountains, but I do believe with God all things are possible. I know my tenacious efforts will benefit my fellow female counterparts, and when the last counter girl sprays her last spritz, mall shopping will be sheer joy for the world.
My experience has led me to hope that people donít fear me coming their way when I try to share my peace in Christ. Have I hit anyone with a fifty-pound bag over the head lately, or have I been sensitive enough to lightly disperse some Godly knowledge to individuals headed my way?
Iíd hate to think the excitement for my faith has led anyone to conjure an eradication plan for me. After all, I donít stand on a street corner with my bible while chanting verses in order to reel in a new believer. Granted, you might find me sharing a tract or two with friends or relatives that includes a flyer of Bambiís face and a big ďWantedĒ stamp across the page, but Iím fairly certain I consistently use the utmost caution with a gentle approach when sharing the word of God.
Now, there have been times Iíve tried to get my point across, but the sweet-smelling fragrance of faith that I share is sure to waft through a nose or two like the sweet scent of honeysuckle.
I think Bambi can benefit from my approach. She came on too strong, and made me run to the nearest mannequin for safety and comfort.
I promised myself that from now on Iíd take the long way to the shoe department. Or else next time, Iím taking my pit bull and a pair of brass knuckles to keep her at bay.
Despite my current case of mall-o-phobia for which Bambiís responsible, I may have to find the strength to face my fear and pay a friendly visit to Mr. Security Guard.
I thought Iíd get even with him by ďaccidentallyĒ spilling an entire bottle of Old Spice on his uniform, but I have the sneaking suspicion heíd prefer to smell like a jelly donut.
I donít knowÖitís just a hunch.
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