THIS.
It's America, I know. I love America. I love capitalism and free enterprise. I love freedom of speech. You have every right. I know.
I'm having a moment here with you. A moment where my fingers are literally ITCHING to write. A moment where I am going to try really hard not to stoop to your level. But, Mike Jeffries, CEO:
You only hire the cool, good-looking people and some people just can't belong among your awesomeness?
THIS GUY?
Please. Just zip it, Spanky.*
Y'all, it hurts me to not go stooping here. HURTS. ME. And I have deleted so much ranting, you have no idea, so I'm going to tell some boring, convoluted stories because uuuggghhhhh.
The interesting thing is that I have started writing about this place before. I have halfway written posts in my "Drafts" section from way back in September up until just about a week ago loosely based on Abercrombie and Fitch.
And then Spanky just went and fell right in my lap this morning.
So, I feel compelled to just blab out those stories so that I won't start going off on Spanky and his innerness and his outerness and his clothes and his apparent deep-seated-cool-kid-envy that is clearly eating him up from the inside out.
Anyway, in late August, I took my boys "Back to School Shopping" at the beginning of the school year. I'll admit that I was kind of excited. I know it's insane, but I was a little bit jealous of my moms-with-girls friends who were going to shopping malls with their daughters. Crazy, huh? I already knew how excruciating it had to have been for my mom to endure my trying on 114 pairs of Gloria Vanderbilts as a 12 year old. I had already heard the horror stories of tears and arguments of my friends and their girls, but I was jealous. I was thrilled when all three of the boys agreed to go to the mall with me and pick out of few new things for school. They had not been in the mall since the days they ate Cheerios in their strollers and watched TV in the back of the Gymboree store. This is the thing though:
The problem with girls is that apparently they care too much about every little thing. The problem with boys? At least with mine?
Don't care. At all.
Whatever, Mom.
That one's fine. Sure.
OK, yea, I don't need to try it on.
Can we eat now? Can we eat now? Can we eat now?
I actually wanted to go to Abercrombie and Fitch; somewhere, anywhere besides Dick's Sporting Goods or Modell's or Sports Authority, because, come, on! Just once?
Let me run down what happened at Abercrombie & Fitch. I needed a spelunker hat because I could not see a darn thing. Why is it pitch black in there? And now I'm thinking, how in the world do the cool, good-looking kids in here even know if there are other cool, good-looking kids in here, WHEN YOU CANNOT SEE IN HERE? I also needed a gas mask because for the love, why is there cologne coming through the vents? At one point, Drew started coughing and Kyle got really worried and told me that he thought the smell in there was aggravating Drew's asthma and he really felt like he should take him out of there. So Kyle straightened up his gas mask and threw Drew over his shoulder and raced out of there like Forrest Gump saving Bubba in 'Nam. It was a heroic move on Kyle's part, to be sure. (Honestly, a red-headed kid with glasses, nut allergies and asthma? So not Spanky's kinda guy. Drew clearly was not invited. I would like to see him tear up Spanky on a basketball court, though. Just sayin') That left my 13 year old and me along with a line of teenage girls who were waiting to try on underwear made of denim. So, he skipped the dressing room and I grabbed the shirt out of his hands and felt my way through the dark to the check out line. At the end of my purchase, I was given this not-embarrassing-at-all shopping bag. What in the name of Sam Hill is going on here?
Afterwards, we went to the food court which was the only part of the shopping/bonding experience that my boys liked. We got over the trauma of the A&F experience with fast food and ice cream. And I sipped my diet Coke with my darling children, placed my naked-men-shopping bag smack dab in the middle of the Taco Bell and the Chick-Fil-A wrappers and told myself that there would be no more of that place, thank you very much.
So, maybe I'm okay with not being able to have a mother/daughter shopping experience. Because those denim underwear things remind me that my girlfriend who works in a high school texted me on a lovely Spring Day last week. She said that at school the new motto must be "Sun's out, buns out."
Girls. Please. It is not cool to have your bottom hanging out of your shorts. I heard some good advice on the radio the other day. It was something along the lines of you want to attract a MAN, not simply a MALE. Do you hear what I am saying here, ladies?
Ok, now. In the interest of full disclosure and since I am clearly all wound up by Spanky and his comments and since I am all over the map and getting a little Judgy McJudgerson, I have to throw myself under the bus a bit. A little humility goes a long way. (Take note, Spanky.)
We have evidence here of the pot calling the kettle black because check out yours truly in this lovely family portrait. Thank goodness this isn't a very close up shot. Me. On the left. 1983 version of "Suns Out, Buns Out". I'm pretty sure I wasn't attracting any males or men.
Mom and Dad: You have some 'splainin' to do. Why would you let me out like this? And why would you order this picture? Now I know why it's in the garage and not in the house.
*Why Spanky? I have no idea. It just seems appropriate somehow.
1 comment:
Buy Dove, boycott A&F!!!!
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