The woman who walks up to me is a foot taller than I am in her six-inch heels. Her blonde hair is tied back in a sleek bun and the stunning ombre wrap dress she’s wearing complements her slender frame.
“Welcome to Armani, ma’am,” she says with a tight smile. “How can I serve you today?”
As ridiculous as it is, I find myself freezing up with self-consciousness.
The truth is I’ve never done much shopping. Deliveries of clothes came into my father’s compound regularly, but I never went out to purchase them myself. Strictly one way traffic.
So now, I’m overwhelmed and out of my depth and my mouth is opening and closing like a fish that’s flopped its way onto dry land.
“Ma’am?” the woman says with a touch of concern.
“I… um… came to… shop,” I say awkwardly, mentally cringing at myself.
N
