I am not a Black Friday shopper, the type who wakes up at 4 am and stands in line for a flat-screen only to be flattened by a stampede. I had read about Versace debuting at select stores this Saturday, including downtown Seattle. There’s a lot of buzz about people getting there early. So I started looking through the offerings.
They’re gorgeous and bright but all of them seemed like most high-end fashion, something I admire from afar. Until I saw this red number:
There are a few factors that are keeping me from camping out right now in my one woman Occupy H&M. It’s not on sale. They probably won’t have my size because H&M is a cruel mistress who doesn’t give a curvy sister a break. I’m size 8 at GAP and J Crew, 6 at Old Navy but at H&M I’m a size 18 because it takes 18 yards of fabric to cover me. Do I look like the type of person who thinks H&M stands for Ham & Mozzarella? Okay yes, but that’s because the guy at the sub shop and I are tight like that. He deciphers my sandwich abbreviations.
The red dress is so gorgeous and goddess-like, but even if I could fit and afford it, I can’t be there to buy it because the sale occurs at the same time as our parent-teacher conference at Nathan’s school where we will hear about how he reads remarkably but has a high use of “butt” as a suffix.
So while the beautiful people are snatching up the dress of my dreams, I will be in a crayola-colored classroom, hoping the kindergarten seat will not crumple underneath me, the weight of materialistic longings and maternal frustrations taking me down.
