Mmmkay. So, I’ve been really low key and all that, but within the past week, I’ve started getting a tad compulsive. In another post, I’ll document my trip to cosmetics shops known for it’s cuntiness, and how my friend The Reporter and I navigated it with ease and aplomb.

But today’s little tale: I had gone bathing suit shopping for a few weeks earlier. Apparently, by mid-summer, stores no longer sell bathing suits. I know this and should have thought about it earlier. At any rate, I’ve got about a week before I leave and I needed a damn swimsuit. I ordered it, received it, and realized that the size I thought I was wasn’t the size I am. (For those that I care, I went up a size. That’s not going to be what I obsess over right now, since I can’t do shit about it in the next week unless I go on an Amy-Winehouse-esque coke binge. And really, who needs a wedding day nosebleed?)

I returned a bikini top last week to exchange it for a new one, to a Well-Known-Catalogue that I hate myself for loving. I blame it on my blue-blood college career (much like my secret appreciation for some Vera Bradly prints. There, I said it.) I had received no confirmation, no nothing on the exchange.

So I call the place I ordered the suit from to check on the timeline. The very nice customer service man informs me it’ll be about two weeks. Very calmly, and very calculatedly, I said, “Oh. Is there any way to expedite that? Because I leave for Thailand for three weeks next week. On my honeymoon.”

Yup, I pulled the honeymoon card. All for a damn bikini top.

The very nice man immediately says, “You know what, I’m sure we can figure something out. Let me put you on hold for a moment.” He gets back on the line, transfers me to the special ops of the biz, and my bikini top will be in my apartment no later than mid-day tomorrow. They even gave me overnight shipping for the price of regular shipping…. on a top that was down to $23 from $44.

When used wisely, the h-word (or w-word, or b-word, or m-word) can be your best friend.