I went to the mall last weekend, and part of me wasn't happy about it for the obvious reasons: it was packed, I had returns, and I was bound to spend more money. The other part was happy because, well, I was bound to spend more money.
First stop, Anthropologie. I'd like to thank the 20 year old cashier for not being snotty about my returns. I appreciate that, truly. Then I was off to browse, and I spied these:
and I stared at them for 10 seconds, which is a freaking eternity considering my Anthropologie-induced ADHD. It's an ecosphere, a little self-contained, self-sustaining world of tiny baby organisms that move and swim right before your very eyes. Alas, it was $248, so it was not to be mine (but fyi, (In)side the Loop found smaller versions for less at Brookstone). The picture is beautiful, and I assure you that the ecospheres are even more beautiful and fascinating in real life. I'd like to point out that I did not spend a single penny at Anthro. In fact, I made money due to my returns.
Second stop, Pottery Barn. Guess what? I had a 3+ year old gift card (actually it was a paper gift certificate because there were no PB gift cards in 2004) and I was determined to redeem it, even if it meant I had to throw down with the manager. After walking around for approximately one hundred years, I finally found a lovely pillow. In fact, I think it is BB8's Lovey pillow. I braced myself, walked up to the register and handed the cashier my gift certificate and said "I think I'm about to complicate things for you." She looked at it and said, "No you're not," and proceeded to let me pay with a gift certificate older than my 3 year old child (which they damn well should have because there was no expiration date). It totally threw me off. Thank you Pottery Barn. Thank you for not challenging me, because while I was ready to pull the hair of your manager, I really didn't want to.
Then I went to Banana Republic and proceeded to spend all of the money that I had earned at Anthropologie. Just basics--straight denim skirt (to wear with my new BOOTS), cream-colored skinny cords (also to wear with my BOOTS. BR insists that they're boot cut, but not in my book and anyhow, they're going back because they look cheap) and a black sweater (which I'm not even going to link to because it looks like crap on the website. God, BR, would you please invest some money on the website?!).
I wasn't really ready to go home, so I engaged in my own form of mall torture. I went into Ann Taylor. I hate it there. I hate the clothes, I hate their merchandising, I hate the way it smells. I cannot trace the roots of my hatred exactly, but think that it started when several years ago, the most matronly and unattractive (personality-wise) woman in my office proclaimed her love for all things AT. I now see the whole store through dirty, stinky-colored glasses. I do not have this issue with Ann Taylor Loft; they are free to exist and sell and prosper. But Ann Taylor proper can burn to the ground. If you buy from Ann Taylor, I beg you not to hang your head in shame or be angry with me. Please, please know that this is my own personal issue, a sort of sgm kryptonite, and that I am aware that my feelings are slightly irrational. I'm sure that many decent and attractive people wear AT clothes. Its website is better than Banana Republic's; I'll grant it that much.
While I was in Ann Taylor, my husband called with the urgent message that our 3 year-old was CRYING and that I'd better come home with my soothing skills before he had to call 911. Normally I might be a bit annoyed with this request, but not this time because he was still coasting on the goodwill garnered from buying me the Heidi Montag Us magazine before Christmas.
Before I sign off, I'd like to go ahead and admit my love for and sometimes inappropriate use of parentheses. I used 8 pairs in this post, which is a lot, but that's who I am, man. Like it or leave it.
For further reading on malls, I direct you to this, one of the funniest things I have ever read on the web.