Every so often I'll take a trip to the Post Mall with my mother and younger sister; it's a pretty decent mall and we generally have a good time. I had three main objectives for the trip:
1. Redeem my coupon for free panties from Victoria's Secret
2. Take advantage of all the Macys 20% off coupon and get the Steve Madden Pumps I've been lusting after
3. Convince an employee at Forever 21 to let me exchange the skirt I bought for another size even though I don't have the receipt
The first task is easily completed with much joy. I do love going into Victoria's Secret and getting nothing more than a free pair of panties. They wrap it in tissue and put it in a little bag and everything. Some people are insanely loyal to Victoria's Secret and I can't fathom why - every time I find a bra there I like they never have it in my size. Once one of the employees even told me that most girls with my cup size have had their breasts augmented. I really wasn't quite sure what to even make of that -- do girls with fake breasts not need bras? But I will say this much, as long as the free pantie coupons keep coming, I will keep getting them.
Next I went to Macys, where I hunted around for my shoe, the Shakeup Pump in Turquoise. I found it in black, and only black. For a shoe that comes in eight different colors, you might think they could stock a bit more variety. But I was out of luck, and since I'd had my heart set on that one, I simply wasn't interested in any of the others.
So, I went to Forever 21, and that store is a disaster. Truly. There is a thrift store in Cambridge, MA called The Garment District. If you've ever been, then you know about the Dollar-a-Pound deal, where piles of clothes cover the floor and shoppers wade through and search for buried treasures. This is what Forever 21 reminds me of. Okay, so maybe the stuff isn't all over the floor, but it is all over the place, tons of clothes crammed together making it difficult to look through the racks. Plus the music is usually obnoxious and the dressing rooms are dark and lack privacy. Which is why I didn't try on the skirt before buying it, and now find myself in the horrible predicament of trying to exchange it. I put on my sincerest look. My most pleading eyes, sweetest smile, expelled gobs of flattery in the sales attendants direction, and was met only with a cold reiteration of the return policy and a trite apology. I eventually accepted my defeat and set off in the direction of the Borders bookstore, where my mother would be.
On the way there is a small stair case of four steps, and a ramp next to it. When given the option, I always take the stairs. I feel the small act of exertion will somehow compensate for my usual lethargy, and that the ramp is for handicap people, or lazy people - which I am not. I quickly start up the stairs, but midway, somehow my foot smashes into back of the stair and as I fall down the first two steps some profanities escape from under my breath. Well, perhaps it was a tiny bit louder than that, enough for some mother to cast me a dirty look, but I don't care, I'm in pain! I look down at my sandled foot and see the top half of my right toe nail hanging precarioulsy off my foot, like a door with a broken hinge. I'm not sure weather I should push it back into place or just pull it off. Slowly blood starts to appear and dome over the area like how a penny looks when you place drops of water on to it. I hop over to a near by bench and pull a tissue out of my purse to quickly wrap around it.
Finally I make it to the Borders where I find my mom sitting in the cafe´ and stare at her, misery painted across my face. She asked what was wrong, and I responded simply by pointing down at the bloody mess of my toe - my perfectly pedicured piggies - ruined! She reached into her purse and pulled out a ghirardelli square to pacify me. My mother is a firm believer that one should always keep chocolate in their purse, because you never know when you might need it. (Laugh if you must, but you should know MacGuyver once stopped a nuclear reactor from melting down with a chocolate bar).
It was a horrible day at the mall which I shall unfortunately be reminded of every time I look down for the next month while I wait for my toe nail to grow back. At least the time for sandals is nearly up and I can safely hide my disfigurement. I really don't think I'll buy into that open-toed boot trend.
