Monachopsis: The subtle, persisting sense of being out of place

This whole place put Kensi on edge, made every cell scream 'Run, run, run!'.

Which was completely pathetic, by the way. Especially for one Special Agent Kensi Blye. Something brushed past her and she flinched at the scratchy feel.

It was just a dress shop. A wedding dress shop, sorry boutique according to the snobby sales girl, but still just a shop.

There was just so much white. It was more blinding than snow. What was even worse that there were just enough variations on the shades of white available that it gave the appearance that everything was moving ever so slightly inwards. Stupid dresses and their optical illusions. Kensi frowned at the racks in displeasure.

Oops, she heard the obnoxious clacking footsteps returning. Who willingly wore what were basically stilettos for a job that you had to stand for all day? There were two sets of high-heeled footsteps. The other, slightly duller, sound must be Clarisse, her consultant.

"Ahem, Miss Blye?" a nasally voice asked.

Kensi looked up to see an over-coiffed woman looming ominously over her. She coughed, who was wearing far too much perfume.

"Yes, that's me," Kensi replied, standing up to shake her hand.

"I am Clarisse, your Dress Consultant," she said, returning the handshake.

"Great!"

"You are alone?" Clarisse asked almost accusingly.

Yes, Kensi was alone. She just wanted to see what they offered today. She wasn't going to be trying anything on until she got a scope on all that was available. Only then would she drag the moms and specific friends along for the apparently endless trying on.

She explained this to the woman and got a derisive sniff in return.

This was not off to a good start.

[xxxxxx]

Kensi should have really listened to her instincts. Hadn't she learned that by now? Apparently, this place let you peruse and select a few designs from a massive catalogue before bringing you to the actual dresses. Which was all well and good but this woman, 'Clarisse' wasn't listening to her at all and kept showing her these pictures of massive floofy concoctions. No, just no. Kensi did not want to look like a marshmallow on her wedding day thank you very much. But noooo, the 'Dress Consultant' knew better than her.

"I just want a simple, elegant dress," Kensi explained again. "No frills or fuss."

Clarisse looked her up and down and sniffed, actually sniffed.

"Indeed," she replied.

What was that supposed to mean? Kensi tried not to give away her irritation. She suspected she wasn't succeeding.

"I will look again in the back," Clarisse said in a long-suffering tone before doing just that before Kensi could even open her mouth.

Instead, Kensi sat back down, disgruntled and trying very hard not to fold her arms and pout as she watched Clarisse 'clack, clack' in the backroom.

She sighed heavily, not really believing that there were going to be any such dresses here but it was worth a shot. That and it was the only one that had a slot open this afternoon.

Honestly, she should have known that these was a no go by just looking at the dresses they had on display in the window. Not one of them had anything less than two layers of lace or frills.

Clarisse hadn't returned. Kensi tried not to feel too guilty that she was relieved. Maybe she got lost in the miles of lace that was sure to be back there.

Urgh, this was just not a nice place to shop. It was full of people she despised most, people who put on airs and graces because they "had money" and "only wanted the very best". This wasn't even a high-end shop (or else Kensi would even be able to afford to come in through the door) so it was even worse. People pretending, they had money and expecting everyone to fall at their feet.

If she heard one more high-pitched whine coming from a grown woman, she was going to snap.

And the looks, oh the looks she was getting from everyone. The confused looks to her empty finger (she hadn't put it back on after work yesterday) and the upturned noses at her outfit. Snobs, she hated snobs. It was like she wasn't good enough for a wedding dress. It was disgusting.

Kensi sighed and tapped her foot, garnering yet another glare.

"Please follow me, Miss Blye, "

[xxxxxx]

She'd been brought into the completely over decorated back area where the dresses were and a few changing areas and left alone again. Well, that was a lie. Clarisse had gone to look into the storeroom to see if she could find 'something that meet your sense of style'. All said in a hoity toity tone of course.

Kensi sighed in exasperation. It shouldn't be this difficult. She'd selected a few choices that she'd sort of liked from the catalogue, not fully trusting how a photograph made the dress look. So, there should be those styles or similar available but noooo Clarisse didn't approve.

The woman had somehow got Kensi holding a whole bunch of fabric samples, all a different type of satin. Supposedly.

The uncomfortable feeling turned into a mild feeling of panic. This is not what she signed up for when she was selecting her wedding dress. This wasn't her. None of it was.

A perfectly poised and excited woman was just on the other side of the room. Behaving perfectly appropriately, looking at dresses with reckless abandon. Should that be her?

Did she want it to be her?

"Ma'am, are you sure you won't consider our Marcel dress?"

Oh God, that was that floofy cupcake concoction she'd been shown twice already.

No, she did not want that to be her. Ever.

That was it. Kensi, dumped the stuff she was holding onto one of those stupid spindly tables before resolutely standing up. She wasn't buying anything here. Nope, she wasn't going to feed into whatever this was. She just couldn't. It wasn't her. Would never be her. Yes, she was going to get herself a wedding dress but it certainly wasn't going to be from here.

"Ma'am, we have the dresses!"

The door slamming made an extremely satisfying noise as she walked away.