I can't tell, butt I'm sure it's fine

Working in retail is always interesting. One holiday I picked up a part time job in a store geared towards teens and early 20 somethings. All the clothing was tight, had sparkles of some kind, and the music was way too loud. One particular day I was stationed at the fitting rooms, and spent countless hours knocking on doors, asking people how they were doing, because I cared oh so much. Occasionally a client would ask for my opinion on how they looked. Of course I would tell them that they were fabulous and they should by it in at least three colors (now stop fixing your lip gloss and get the heck out so I can put someone else in your fitting room!). One customer that day was, shall we say, older than our usual cliental, by about 40 years. When she first came in I though she was shopping for a grandchild. I was grossly mistaken. She informed me that she was seeking a pair of jeans for herself. Since she was petite she thought maybe a “younger” style would fit her better. I grimaced; no one wants to see grandma in bedazzled skinny jeans. She was, however, a paying customer and I treated her as such. Grandma tried on every style of jeans that our store carried but to no avail. At the end of an hour-long runway session she determined that the problem was her butt. None of the jeans fit her derriere quite right (perhaps because she was no longer 18). I assured her that this was a problem that pledged many women, and that she was not alone in her distress. That was no comfort her. Frustrated she swung open the fitting room door sporting nothing but her T-shirt and white granny-panties. I was mortified to say the least. A wave of panic flowed over my body. Frantically I ran over to shut the door before any innocent passersby were eclipsed by her moon. “I think my butt is different than everyone else’s!”, She desperately exclaimed. Then, to my horror, she bent over and asked me if her butt look any different than other butts. I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or curl up in the fetal position and pretend this was all a dream. I managed to stutter something about not being an expert on the subject, and told her that everything looked ok from my point of view. Unbeknownst to her I was staring at anything accept her age-ridden buttocks. Eventually she got cold or something because she put her original pants back on. She thanked me for my time, and I said it was no problem (even though I would probably have nightmares for weeks and need psycho therapy for a very long time). As she was leaving I suggested a more age appropriate store to her (thinking that there would be significantly less rhinestones on their garments). In hindsight I probably should have called and warned the other store’s sales associates. Butt what are you gonna’ do?