FIsher took the black tee eagerly, since it was after all within his comfort zone. But he eyed the button-up shirt warily. "It's so light," he complained, but put it on anyway. "Well," he admjitted while lookign in the mirror, "it's not as awful as I thought. And it's certainly not me. What do you think?" He held out his arms a little, modeling it for her.
Suddenly, he stopped. Putting a finger to his lips, he pointed to the pair of feet standing in front of the dressing room door. Moving as quietly as he could, Fisher grabbed Ita like an oversized doll and stood her onto the bench, making sure she crouched down so as not to be seen over the top.
"Excuse me," he said loudly. "I'm having sex with my girlfriend in here, do you mind?"
There was a pause, then a voice beyond the door said "Sorry." And they walked off. Fisher smiled. "I'm pretty sure that person thinks I'm talking to myself in here," he murmured, giggling. "It's always best to leave crazy people alone. Oh, by the way," he informed her casually, "you're my imaginary girlfriend now."