I went to Northpark Mall in search of the perfect pair of jeans. My hairdresser Denise, who by her very profession is way hipper than I, told me of a place where they can size you up the moment you walk into the store. You will go home with the perfect pair of jeans, she said.
My little voice, the one that’s always spot-on-right, warned me the moment I looked inside. The glare from jewel-encrusted jeans and size zero tank tops and t-shirts hurt my eyes. Row and rows and rows of bling-ed up clothing were crammed so tightly in the tiny shop, I could barely walk between the aisles. The pounding music, heavy on the base, nearly shook the racks of gaudy jewelry.
I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad shopping day.
I wanted to move to Australia.
I felt every one of my fifty-and-a-half years plus some.
I wanted to apparate straight from this dressing room to The Gap where I was considered Long and Lean before Long and Lean was discontinued…
Some days are just like this. Even in Australia.
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
“I went to sleep with gum in my mouth and now there’s gum in my hair and when I got out of bed this morning I tripped on the skateboard and by mistake I dropped my sweater in the sink while the water was running and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day….Some days are like that. Even in Australia.”
― Judith Viorst, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day