(This has absolutely nothing to do with writing. Not even a weak metaphor. Just a warning.)
I spent last night at the mall looking for an outfit to wear to Hubbykin's casual hipster office party. Anyone who knows me in real life knows that I am no casual hipster. At all. I ended up with, after much mall angst, a suitable outfit. But I had a few things I wanted to tell the retailers:
I'll admit it. You've come through for me over the years, jeans-wise. And I appreciate that. But why, why, why am I three sizes bigger in your brand than any other store? Why?
Haven't stepped foot through your doors since 1997, but you stepped up last night. Here's a cookie.
Really, Express? Really?! You're going to create these...
...and not carry the tall size in your stores? That's cruel. These are jean perfection. I love them. No cookie for you.
Dear NY & Co,
I love you. From all the stylistically-challenged, accessory-clueless ladies of the world, thank you for making everything matchy-matchy without being annoying. Just...thank you.
Dear Every Single Store In The Mall,
Okay. I get it. Skinny jeans are in. But I look like a half-plucked chicken in them, so no thank you. Praying for this fad to go away. Right. Now.
December, it is upon us.