Today, let me relate to you the story of the mall dress.
It happened one late summer day about two years ago. Lane was only a mere infant and Logan was a jubilant toddler. We were at the mall having lunch. The mall is an excellent place to feed a over picky toddler because there is a ton of choice. And there's play park to entertain. And the Thomas the Train set up at Chapters to mollify any screaming toddler.
Those are the only reasons I had to ever go to the mall.
What about shopping you say?
This is where my confession comes in:
I can't stand shopping at the mall.
Terry can attest to this when early in our relationship I went to the mall to buy some such outfit or underwear or whatever and came out crying.
If I shop at the mall, I always leave in tears.
My fashion sense is no where near what the mall offers. And the sizes are not for anyone who isn't a teenage stick figure.
And can we talk about the sales people for a minute?
**** Note: I wanted to call them sales bitches, but this is a family blog****
They are the worst. If you're not one of their Bieber lovin', cell phone textin', hair flippin' teenage cohorts, they want nothing to do with you. They will stare you down, refuse to help you with anything and pretty much act with distain over your entire existence until you leave.
So, I don't go into those stores anymore. But the only other stores left are the "old lady" type stores. And they are even worse. Cuz goodness knows I don't look like I wear clothes (or could even afford clothes) from those stores. Those ladies act like it's beneath them to even breathe the same air that I do.
I know. I know. I'm probably imagining the whole scene. I know.
Doesn't matter if the ending is always the same. I leave. Crying.
So - getting back to the tale of the mall dress.
There we were in the food court eating our lunch. Then from the corner of my eye, I spot something. A beautiful orange maxi dress on display at the one of the stores near us.
I wanted that dress.
I wanted it really badly.
And it was marked at $17.
I ventured over there with the kids stuffed into the double stroller.
Carefully. All the while thinking that the dress was probably made by migrant workers in India. And that I shouldn't even go near. Imagining the awful scene of me fleeing, wiping tears out of my eyes while Logan shouts: "Mommy is crying like a baby" for all to hear.
I chose the large orange dress from the rack and, without even trying it on (because that would be a whole other type of torture and trauma and a sure fire way to bring on the sobs) I bought it.
I knew that if it didn't fit, I could still cut it up and make a beautiful skirt out of it for the price.
No tears! And it fit!
And I still wear it every summer.
And that my friends is the last clothing item I've ever purchased from a store in the mall.
How do you handle going to the mall?
Are they a necessary evil?
Linking this confession with All Work and No Play Makes Mommy Go Something Something. Got something to confess?