Surprise surprise, iPhones are not all they're cracked up to be, hence our trip to Bridgeport. But waiting in line with geekery wafting so thick through the air as to make me feel like I rode in on a Dilophosaurus wasn't a total loss, for serious, like, Olympic-caliber shopping awaited us. Somehow these architectural outdoor malls feel like towns, so aesthetically pleasing as to convince me that their Borders is inarguably superior to ours. And the trolleys? What could possibly be more charming than a trolley?
I scored big time here, and it's killing me that I can't post what I got.
Um, iPhone cover options anyone? They should ban libras from the store, as a health hazard, since a libra would surely die here:
I suddenly hate my white Shuffle and require a rainbow of them. Immediately:
A phenomenon of babyhood. How can a baby who can't even reach his feet get his boot off? I resisted the urge to point this out to his mama because she was tan, didn't smile, and was wearing UGGs, as was he. I figured it would be easier for her to replace them than for me to feel fat and stupid speaking to her. That is, of course, assuming she was the bitch I suspected. She may have been wonderful. But I was overstimulated and opted not to risk it:
It only takes a 17 foot horse to make me feel small:
Oh shit:
The Borders, lol, and a sliver of a trolley:
Next we got sucked into this ridiculous, surreal red caboose candy shoppe wherein they peddle the same shit as Candy Tyme (which we occasionally patronize despite the painful spelling), but it was a caboose! I took the grand tour, by spinning around, and was going to leave, but I spied these candies that Quinn lerves. He buys them at the downtown mall, and I've never seen them in Salem, though I have never looked either. Suddenly the aggressive mustachioed sales lady thrust bags into all our hands and it was understood we were not leaving without candy. She said we could mix-and-match, that they were all $2-something...so I got Quinn a few of these sweets for his stocking. Seriously, like nine of them. Or seven. I went to pay, and it was $5.69! What? I decided my size and incredulity were formidable matches for her brute manner and heavy Slavic accent. "No," she explained, "I say de candies was $2-(whatever) per korta-pound. Dat is what I say." "Um, no you didn't, you said they were all $2-(something). Who prices things in quarter pounds?" "I do." I expected wrought iron bars to slam down or something. I was incensed, more at the obvious trickery than the price, though $5.69 for seven or nine pieces of candy made me want to steal the Roast Beast and all the Who Hash. I repeated that her deceit had not gone unnoticed but ultimately I was stuck because ethically I could not just leave the bag. Now I'm stressed because I've never caught whether or not he has a favourite colour of these, forgot to call Reilly, and spent $1,000.00 on them.
But Urban Outfitters makes everything better. And I mean everything. We weren't in the door five seconds before I had twelve books in my hand, was laughing my ass off at the novelty flasks, and expecting Jack McFarland to spring out from any corner. I also found the most thrilling, unexpected gift in the world for my boy. I'm so excited I can't stand it.
It was freezing as a motherfucker, and I got fleeced at the candy shoppe, but I always prefer the days wherein I love this season to the ones in which I hate it. I definitely loved this, the fourth day of christmas.
2 comments:
You should've plucked the bitch's mustache out. Candy is priced per pound. Period. Next week she'll be selling it by the dram. Duh.
sounds like a great day. almost makes me miss shopping there, and that's saying a lot, considering how i feel about shopping. the container store looks great, i envy you. but miss you more.
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