After the anti-climactic trip to the consulate, we made a trip to, where else, the mall. Mom, in her ocd way mapped out exactly where we came in and how to get back to our car so as not to run into trouble on the way out (fancy that). We browsed the stores - walked in an Aldo that had about 10 SALE SALE SALE signs in the front & a rather flamboyant associate in the back who glared at us as we walked in. You could see him mentally size us up: Will they buy something? I think not. hmmph.
Almost to prove him wrong, I did buy something - a pair of light pink pointy-toed pumps on sale for 19.98 (did I mention it was conveniently tax-free weekend? ...and somehow high heels go under "educational"), which I tested before purchasing by strutting around the store to a Mika song, irony of ironies. When we went to the register, the man's mood had significantly improved, and he graciously moved the 3 pairs of sneakers from in front of the register so as to make it more convenient for us to pay. yeah.
Eventually, we met up with my sister, who kept sighing deeply in an I can't believe I just took THE Bar way and was continuously using lawyer terms in normal sentences such as "Well, he did avail himself to the state" etc etc.
Sarah, being who she is (a rare type of creature that sheds clothes like skin, in whose natural habitat we were currently wandering), led us directly to Anthropologie. It was there that I fell in love.
We all waltzed in (because you can't walk in Anthropologie, the store is too...noble for that) and of course, being who we are (people with jobs and bills) we went immediately to the back of the store where there was a giant "Sale" sign hoisted over three mess-hall-table-sized clothing racks full of color-coded tops and skirts and pants and short shorts and bermuda shorts and sweaters and shrugs and, and, and...basically heaven to any female who wears clothes. Of course, there were a few boyfriends and husbands here and there sheepishly toting shopping bags full of women's underwear and make-up products, all looking at the walls and the ceiling, as if trying not too appear too interested in women's clothing.
As I was perusing the racks, an older woman came up beside me and started thumbing through the hangers. Man, something smells like...soup. Startled, I glanced at the older woman. She paid me no attention, intent on her task. Some people just don't understand the need for deodorant. I walked away, annoyed. But the smell wouldn't go away. I looked around, wondering where it was coming from. Geez, this whole place smells bad. Then it dawned on me. Pizza dawned on me. I was carrying a pizza to-go bag left over from lunch. I stuck my face in the bag, then quickly withdrew it. Yep, soup-pizza. Lovely.
Ignoring the smell, I went back to the racks. Then I saw it - a cream-colored knit shrug with a hoodie. Wow, that is beautiful. And suddenly, I was imagining our future together - wearing it everyday - with tank tops, with t-shirts, with skirts and pants, it would go with anything - taking it to Paris - sporting the knit shrug with the pointless hood, I knew could feel stylish even among the fashion elite. I was in love.
I didn't have to try it on, but went straight to the register. Thirty minutes later, it was mine, and we were on the road home.
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1 comment:
I heart your shoes. And your entry tags.
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