Dear Avenue Stores, Inc.,A couplefew weeks ago, I joined a half dozen of my co-workers in ringing the Opening Bell at the New York Stock Exchange. If you watch Sex and the City, then you know this is kind of an honor, one bestowed only upon titans of industry. Like Carrie Bradshaw. And okay, I don’t know who else. Mostly White Men in Dark Suits, I think. There’s a bit of ceremony involved. They feed you, give you a tour of the trading floor, take your picture, lead you in a short prayer to Satan, then send you off carrying heavy gifts with your name engraved on ‘em. It’s a whole fancy to-do. I figured my standard stretchy skirt / stretchy shirt wouldn’t fly. So I opted for a suit jacket and a pair of coordinating pants purchased recently at your store. Nice pants. Sixty buck pants. Second time wearing ‘em.
They ripped. Right up the ass.
There I am, standing on thuh marble balcony overlooking the Mecca of global economics. It’s the most widely viewed daily event in the world. I’m being internationally televised live. My moms is watching. And I’ve got butt breeze.
Yeah, I know these things happen. But these were supposed to be quality pants. Not a month old. Fit me perfectly, and not even broken in yet. A girl drops a dozen fins on a pair of pants she’ll never wear, can’t she expect to have ‘em perform their prime duty – to cover her ass – at least two, maybe three times, before they become a dust cloth? I mean, true, I didn’t pay full price. 40% off. On top of a markdown. Plus I think I had a coupon. And yes, it’s possible I’m up a couple pounds since purchase. Maybe even several. Okay, actually I know I am. So. Perhaps I’m between sizes now. Or even up one size. But, Jeez. I mean, yes, everything’s been fitting a bit snug lately, but… Okay. I’m packing on the pounds, arright? Is that what you want me to say? Gyah. What’re you looking at? Okay. Screw it. Never mind.
An Open Letter To Haagen Dazs…
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