After today’s schlep to Sawgrass Mills with my Greek posse (I roll 5 deep, yo!), it’s been brought to my attention that even shopaholics like myself can get shopped out. As in, GET ME OUT OF THIS FRIGGIN’ PLACE BEFORE I BUY A COON HAT BECAUSE I’VE REACHED THE POINT OF DELUSION.
Yes, this self-professed bargainista had a Muzak-induced meltdown minutes into today’s shopping journey. Alas, it happens to the best of us.
This is how it all went down. First of all, Sawgrass (like every other mall in America) was packed like vultures on a rotting carcass. There were bodies as far as the naked eye could see. This is très annoying. And it makes me anxious. So about an hour into Nordstrom Rack, the fluorescent lighting up above seemingly flickered à la the Twilight Zone. In the Bloomingdales Outlet, a Kenny Rogers tune blasted at deafening levels. In Neimans Last Call, my blood pressure rose as rows and rows of discount racks dizzied my vision.
I was losing my senses. And soon — insert a dramatic gasp here — my good sartorial taste.
At Saks, I was in full-on hallucination mode and started squirming my noggin into Davy Crockett-esque raccoon hats and maniacally telling myself, “This is cool. I mean, I could totally rock this — it’s 57 degrees out, after all.” Until… an old man beckoned me to Planet Earth by chuckling, “It looks like you’re wearing road kill.” Thanks, sweet senior citizen.
I snapped this pic for you crazy kids and hightailed it home — feeling the antithesis of a shopper’s high. And now that I’m safely home, regaining my keen sense of vision, hearing and taste — something tells me I’ll be back at the mall sooner than I thought because… I desperately need a pair of red trousers.