Guess what the fuck is up? Give you a hint: *my estrogen levels* Being a chick sucks sometimes. I've had a serious case of the fugs lately. I feel disgusting and am pretty sure I still look like Godzilla. So today, I decided to do some retail therapy.
Nothin' cures the blues like spending some greens.
Except, oh right, my wallet is empty. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures. I gathered all my clothes that don't fit anymore or I don't wear anymore and decided that instead of donating them to charity, I was going to be selfish and sell them so I could get a little charity. It's a win-win situation, for me at least.
So I packed my shit up, stuffed it in a trash bag and went to the phenomenon that is Twice is Nice. Twice is Nice has a serious arrogance complex. It's above a Savers but definitely below a Buffalo Exchange. I'm sorry, you want me to pay how much for a pair of Kathie Lee Gifford jeans? But being poor and in desperate need of new jeans (but not desperate enough to buy anything from the she-devil known as Ms. Giffords), I sucked it up and went in.
Now, this may be icky, but everyone knows that shopping when your, uh, estrogen levels are off the fucking chain and you've gained five pounds in water weight is probably a bad idea. But time of the month be damned, I was going to try on some jeans. Big mistake.
Nothing fit. Nothing. Every pair of jeans in my size were tight in the waist or loose in the leg, or squeezed my leg to the point where I lost circulation or gave me a motherfucking muffin top. My dressing room was like a war zone. It was like I was young, fresh faced America and the British were coming back after all these years to claim my thighs in the name of the Queen. As if the Queen doesn't have enough stuff, the greedy bitch.
There were one pair of jeans though. Dark wash, boot cut and didn't make my ass look like it was two watermelons shoved in denim.
Not bad, I thought. Not bad at all.
So I look at the tag to see how much they are and what the brand is and find something terrible. They were Daisy Fuentes brand. DAISY. MOTHER. FUCKING. FUENTES.
Needless to say, I stripped out of those jeans like someone was gonna pay me money, threw them on the ground, stomped on them, collected my $50 in trade and bolted. Daisy Fuentes jeans deserve worse. So do my ovaries.
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One word for Daisy Fuentes apparal = WOOF.
ReplyDeleteUgh, I know. And to make matters worse, the back pockets on the jeans have glitter on them. Yeah, that's exactly what I need. Nothing says, "Hey, check out what's going on back here" like a bedazzled butterfly. Barf.
ReplyDeleteOh man, I did the same thing a week or two ago and ended up with jeans that are now a size and a hlaf too big. waste of effing money! Now all I have is a new pair or period pants.
ReplyDeleteNot like Marcos perios pants, like 5 extra pound period pants. Just for the record. In case there was confusion. You know between my pants with a lack of red paint. K- I'm done.