I was in a major department store the other day, shopping a killer winter clearance coat sale. Considering that I haven’t had a real coat (read “dry clean only” as opposed to machine washable) since my son was born nearly ten years ago, I figured this would be a good time to take advantage of the reduced prices and the coupon I had. Well, the shopping gods were generous and I found not one but two great designer coats at a substantial discount, and I look and feel great in them. Flushed with confidence from my purchase, I ventured into the women’s jeans department with less trepidation than I normally feel. I wander over to a section that has jeans purporting not to be the kind of jeans that teens wear today – you know, cut down to the pubic bone, or strategically ripped and torn, or so skinny that you have to spray your legs with Pam to get into them before you have to lie down to zip them up. I took a pair off the rack to get a closer look. Okay, decent rise, a nice boot cut, neither to wide nor too skinny, a flattering rinse, and nary a rip or tear in sight. These might warrant a trip to the dressing room. Then, I turn them over. Rhinestones. On the pockets. On my butt. Sparkles. Really? If I was going to bedazzle a body part (and I wouldn’t be) it certainly would not be my butt. How disappointing. These had potential, but sadly I place them back on the rack. I don’t want sparkles on my butt. Ever. I drift into the kid’s section and find myself staring at girl’s toddler jeans – and they have sparkles on the butt, too! Apparently, not only do I not want my daughter’s jeans, I don’t want toddler jeans, either. I decide to cut my losses and head home with my purchases. I came here for coats, after all, and I got two of them, no sparkles in sight.
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