Fitting

I wrote this for a writing competition where the theme was 'Bust'. It didn't make it, but here it is:

You will methodically park your car
in your designated space,
you will straighten up
your name badge
and you will sheen your fringe with hairspray.
You will glide into your department:
sensible shoes on shiny floor,
greet Dora the cleaning lady as
she sways the mop in your wake.
You will hang up your frumpy handbag
in the Heat-magazine strewn staffroom
and make your way
to the fitting room.
They tumble in
like dropped peppercorns,
a steady flow throughout the day.
They are nervous,
just like you.
They have gone their adult lives
thinking they are a 34B.
You will tell them
with the pride of a mother at sport's day
that they are a 36E or
Double D.
You will tighten their straps
and delicately avoid
their lightly sweating backs
and recommend a tshirt bra,
or plunge for dramatic effect.
You will wave them on their way,
but they will not see you
as you
watch the spring in their feet
as they move from the B stand to higher.
You will remember them
on your drive home that day,
and you will hold them in your mind.