Let me just cut right to the chase: we were accosted by a lunatic. In the underwear section. Of Saks Fifth Avenue.
I was aware of what appeared to be some manageable absurdity while I was being rung up for a new bra. (“I don’t know, the underwire seems to have… evaporated,” “Mmhmm, yes, Miss Carey, I sure have had this happen to me before. Now take that old thing off; and don’t worry, I’m a fitter, not a looker.”) I could hear bits and pieces—“I just, I can’t seem to keep my emotions in check, but you are just such a dear, dear girl… someone sent you here to me. A higher power.”