people like me do not belong in malls.
people prone to crabbiness and snarky thoughts about the masses.
malls bring out the worst in me.
you know, like how some people can't drink tequila. or be married. ever.
normally i can be bop through a bad hair day or bad fashion week and be totally fine with it. this is who i am, i say. this is how i'm comfortable, i say.
but when i hit the mall it's all over. it's like the 'You are here' sign is following me. blinking its message above my head. on a continual loop.
YOU LOOK OLD.
YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO TIE A SCARF.
YOU SHOULD WEAR DARKER JEANS.
DANIEL CRAIG WILL NEVER LOVE YOU.
i don't know if it's the total sensory overload, but i know that has A LOT to do with it. malls used to be kind of cohesive. every store front vaguely similar. they had that sort of institutional look about them. not so anymore. i mean every single store has a different sight a different smell a different sound from the one before. it's completely overwhelming. please remind me to never travel to hong kong. i don't know if my poor heart could take it.
and i don't get it. all that stuff. where does it come from? where does it go? how do you even know where to *start*?
inexplicably the escalator is round in the mall i was in. it keeps circling around and around and going to different floors. then it ends in nordstrom. like you get off the escalator and you're in the middle of a store. how is that secure? i wonder. how can you just have a store right there, will all that merchandise, and an easy escape? security must be on edge all the time. the whole thing makes me nervous.
and you know i can get lost going straight. so put me in a mall. yeah. with all those floors and round escalators ending in the middle of stores and all that artificial light and recycled air and oh my god. and since when do they have fancy restaurants with bars in a mall? good to know though, you know...for emergencies. 'no. no. just leave me. save yourselves. i'll be at the bar.'
so then you get to that weird part of the mall. where it's less crowded, deserted really. with the weird stores that no one seems to be in. the one department store that no escalator would be caught dead ending in. and no lounging furniture. kind of a no man's land. and of COURSE that's when i have to pee.
and maybe i've been watching too many episodes of 'monk' but that hallway to the bathroom looks like the perfect place to commit a crime. against me.
i just want to pee. i don't want to die.
the hallway stretches out before me. i hear strains of ennio morricone. then BAM. dead before my time. with so much left to do. i MEANT to stop looking so old! i MEANT to watch that you tube tutorial on how to tie a scarf 3 different fashionable ways! i MEANT to buy some darker jeans! now daniel craig really WILL NEVER LOVE ME BECAUSE I'M DEAD!
but then something happens. a miracle really. i look over and i see an EXIT. is that light coming through??? i nearly weep. i still have to pee.
and then something else; every one's DONE shopping. and every one's HAPPY. the boybarians' christmas money has been liberated, no more burning pockets. wingman got what he came for. the duke, too. they are satisfied! content! no one is grumpy! or bummed! or arguing! or bickering! and i didn't even have to bribe anyone with one of those big crappy pretzels!
and so we start for the door. and we're almost there. and the husband pinches my ass and smiles at me. and then he takes my hand. and we're out the doors. OUTSIDE. with the homeless people and the bad street musicians and the filth and the crime and i am so happy! and there's fresh air! sure it smells like pigeon, but it's AIR!
those were the longest 48 minutes of my life.
and the boybarians bump up against me as we walk and cross the street (they have to be right.beside.me.always. seriously, they used to follow me like baby duckings, now they bump up against me like puppies.) and i am holding the husband's hand. and we are headed to chinatown and the gritty little super delicious pho place off the park.
and so who cares if i can't tie a scarf? and so who cares if i look my age? and so who cares if daniel craig will never love me? i mean how awkward would THAT be anyway. "i know you love me, daniel craig, but you have to stop calling. you have to stop showing up on my front porch."
but i will tell you what, i absolutely do need some darker jeans. no doubt about that.
thank god for thrift stores.