Go Play in the Street

Okay, so it's no secret that I sit in the corner like a junkie waiting on the next benjamin I can drop in White House Black Market. Not just because everything in the store fits me properly, is black or is white but because everything is RIGHT THERE. Neatly displayed on the rack with its matching siblings in ascending size order. You can move seamlessly from this to that without missing A THING. Bliss! Arrive in the store. Be magnetically drawn to the thing you didn't see last time. Reach for what you want with the "M" on the tag. Take it to the counter. Get a nod for being a lifetime Black Book Club Member. Pay. Go home. DONE!

HOWEVER, certain economic restrictions are in place now and I'm on sort of a spending diet. Which means I'm not allowed to go in the new entrance to the mall. I have to park outside the department stores AND make sure I take EJ with me because she will THROW DOWN if I make her go in WHBM. For some reason that much black and white between four walls is too much for her to handle and she morphs in to a random X-Men character.

The reason I'm telling you all of this is that I'm headed to Ireland in oh, seven days and need several new pairs of jeans. My girlfriend, Rachel, can apparently spot a cute shirt/jeans/skirt/shoes on sale from the next state over. I'll admit I'm terrified of stores like Kohl's and Marshall's because I'm too lazy. The LAST thing I want to do is plunder through shit-tons of shirts whose only commonality is that they are a size medium! You gotta be talented for this type of shopping. Rachel wrote the fucking book. Naturally, I asked her to be my stylist/cutejeanshiddeninthegodawfulrackofdeath for the afternoon. I drove.

Within minutes I was given a job. "Go get a shopping cart." she said. I know she was just trying to get rid of me so she could do her thing. Which I'm sure if I waited around would have been something akin to psycho-kinetically pulling the cute shit out of the clusterfuck of hideous things I would have picked up were I left alone in such a situation.

I'm three new pairs of perfectpocketposition jeans richer and in total freakin' awe of my BFF.