Peeping Tommy

Last night I went shopping for swimsuits. If I haven't mentioned it before, I'm going to the beach for four days in less than a month's time. Never you mind that I have a slew ... nay, a plethora ... of bathing suits stashed in a plastic bin underneath my Sealy. I want a new one and I want to take three different ones to the beach. I don't care if you say that's unreasonable, I made the decision long ago and there's nothing you can do about it.

I did gain some sensibility in the fact that I would only allow myself to spend $30 or less. (Swimsuits can get expensive, people, so this is no easy task.) After browsing through Target's selection with no success, and moving my search to Old Navy, only to find they charge $20-$25 for the top and bottom piece each, I tip-toed over to Marshalls in the rain. I know, I know ... slightly chaotic and emerging devil-status ... but they sell bikini pieces together. And they're cheap.

So much to my satisfaction, I found three Penguin suits to try. (Love, love, love Penguin clothing.) I made my way to the dressing room, and shortly upon my arrival to dressing room number one, a loud mother and daughter scooted their way into the room next door to me. They were speaking in rapid Spanish, but the daughter was clearly distraught and it started to stress me out. I glanced in the mirror and noticed little boys' feet running to and fro out in the hallway of the women's dressing room, and assumed it was the son/brother waiting for the madness of shopping to be finito. La di da, I'm trying on my second swimsuit. Glance in the mirror again ... only to find the boy's creepy little eyes staring through the crack of the shoddy dressing room doors ... gaping at what he saw. Soon after, but not immediately, he noticed that I had caught him and he ran away.

Ok. As if shopping for a bathing suit isn't mortifying enough, I have a 7 or 8 year old boy ogling my goodies. (My apologies if it's TMI, but no, I had not yet put the bikini top on yet.) This kid was more-than-obviously old enough to know better, but I didn't know what the heck to do. Yell over to his mom, who very likely did not speak English "Tell your son to get his grubby little eyes off my boobies?" No. I didn't do that. Instead I snuck over to the little space that did not show my reflection in the mirror and stayed there until the family exited the dressing room. I finish my deliberations, all while shaking my head in disbelief at what just occurred.

I found my boyfriend to tell him what happened. He was ticked. I continued to feel more and more violated by the second, magnified by the fact that it was because of a pre-pre-pubescent boy. But there was nothing I could do. I had no idea which family owned this little crap head. So I was out of luck. And it's fairly obvious that I'm the subject of a story at a KC area grade school today. All I can hope for is that his mother catches wind of his "adventure" and she has enough sense to award him with some severe spankings. I have a sneaking suspicion I'll sense it if it happens.