I mean standing in the geographic middle of Wal-Mart trying on panties over your panties in case the last test driver had post-coital drip. We've all done it, sometime. And it's weird.
I always have this fear that the fire alarm's going to go off and the shantytown of dressing stalls will fill up with smoke and collapse, sending me running for my car with only one boob half tucked into a hot pink and black bra and panty set I have no business buying.
Either that or the security guys take turns laughing at the fat woman's ass hanging out of a cheap 2X thong.