Ok. I'm not really a mall person. I don't like the parking and the walking and the having to carry your coat around and what not. It's just not for me. But, as it was the Christmas season and with the Christmas season comes gift cards and necessary returns, I decided to bite the bullet and just venture out to Chesterfield Towne Centre (they spell it that way to make it seem fancy) to take care of my errands. Why the CTC, you ask? Because, frankly, I'd rather drink my own urine (hell, I'd drink your urine) before going out to Short Pump on the day after Christmas. One can only take so many
David-Yurman-jewelry-draped,
Tide-with-lavender scented West End mothers and
croc-clad children in his/her lifetime.
Anyway, I felt like things were going to be ok when I got there. I found a parking lot very close to the entrance and took that as a good sign. Maybe I wouldn't end of shaking my fist at complete strangers at the conclusion of this trip.
Well, I didn't shake my fist, but I will tell you that after making a return and buying some jeans (25% off, helloooooo!!!), a trip that took all of 15 minutes, I left feeling genuine hatred for the following people:
- Anyone under the age of 23
- The fitting room attendant at GAP who seems to think that the fitting rooms are in the pants of the "cute boy" working at the register
- Grown women who wear oversized, fleece sweatshirts embroidered with any cartoon character that doesn't wear pants (e.g. Pooh, Daffy Duck, etc.)
- People who walk around the mall like they are taking a stroll in the park and then suddenly stop in front of a store to discuss whether or not to go in there and as they stop they block the way for everyone in their vicinity because, I'm gonna say it, each member of their strolling party passed 300lbs. a long time ago
So there, I'm a city snob. I apparently cannot be in any area other than my place of work or within walking distance of my home. It also seems that I'm only friends with people that are my age or older and who I feel are attractive, in-shape, and well-dressed (but not too well-dressed-see my previous comments about people who live in the West End). It turns out that deep in my black heart of judgement I have found myself to be a jerk. Why don't I feel bad about this?
3 comments:
I think those croc shoes are the mark of the devil. I'm not even kidding.
It seems to be that you've now exonerated yourself by admitting that you're a jerk. From what I've read of you from your blogs, I think you'd be a good friend, the kind of person I'd like to hang around with. But hell, I'm a fat chick. Guess I'm not allowed in your little pretty, size 2 world. Too bad for you.
I questioned myself at the end as to why I didn't feel bad about this. I feel bad that I didn't feel bad, as ridiculous as that sounds. I was confessing that I can be really shallow, not glorifying the fact.
That post was made at the height of holiday frustration and I use insanity as my defense.
BTW, I am definitely not a size 2. Definitely, defintely not.
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