You pick which is which.
So, I like to think that this blog performs a valuable public service, that is, keeping it real for those of you all who live in zip codes in a higher socioeconomic bracket than mine and/or don't trouble yourselves with ever taking public transportation. In this spirit, I'd like to give you a wee glimpse into just how klassy the average prison bus rider is.
A young woman was sitting directly in front of me, giving me a prime view of the back of her head. (No! She did not have the name of either her boyfriend or any of her children inked onto her neck. But good guess.) Her hair was up in a huge, bright white plastic claw clip. She was also, to help you complete the picture, wearing big gold hoop earrings, the kind with a name or other writing in the center, the kind you get at Joe's House of Bling. (Okay, I made that up, but if I ever open a jewelry store that's what I'm calling it. You heard it here first.) Fair enough.
Then she turned her head slightly to the side to look out the window, giving me a different view. And there, on her bright white hairclip, was an even brighter orange price sticker (1.00). Reader, I almost lost my shit. I managed to contain my laughter not because laughing at someone's forgetting to remove a price tag is petty, low, and very bad karma (but, c'mon, it was bright orange on a white background; how does anyone who isn't high miss that?), but because in my experience? Women who wear that kind of earring aren't usually loathe to cut a bitch.
In other news, do you remember me swearing that I was never, ever going to buy anything but jeans from the Gap ever again? Well. This is what happens when I don't listen to my own better judgment. I bought 5 new t-shirt camis from them within the past six weeks, two white, two gray, one black, to wear beneath my cardigans and v-necks for the spring. Ten bucks each. They're nice. The right length. The right proportion of cotton to spandex. Not too-long straps. Comfy. I've been washing them on *delicate* and drying them on *low*. I've had them, I'll mention again, for six weeks or less. I did laundry last night. Both gray ones were in the load yesterday. Today? One has its stitching coming apart at the left seam. The other has a strap that came apart at the top. All the way. Such that I had to tie a knot in it to wear it today. I CAN'T TAKE IT. Since when do $10 pieces of underwear last five washes or fewer? On delicate? Underwear is not supposed to be disposable. No, no, no, no.
And, then, when I was just now cooking, my stove apparently blew a fuse for no apparent reason in the middle of my dinner preparations. For no apparent reason. I was freaking out that it was in fact my stove that broke, or that I wouldn't get it working before all my food was ruined. Neither was true. Thankfully. But I remain perplexed.
I think that's it.
xoxo
9 comments:
Back when everybody had money, there was an amusing article about newly-affluent young men who had to be told to remove the tags from the sleeves of their new suits. They had grown up being walking billboards for corporate culture and didn't know they could or should. Do you suppose your fellow prison busee was under the same delusion?
And hey! I rode the bus from my high rent zip code when I had downtown gigs. It wasn't always as colourful as yours, but it did go through Lynn and Revere, so it always had its moments.
There is *nothing* that cannot be livened up by a trip through Revere and Lynn. That's my motto and I'm sticking by it.
(Can you imagine what a different blog this would be if I lived in, like, Newton or Hamilton or someplace like that? Quelle horror!)
don't be sellin' the w towns short--yesterday's AP caught the story about the wellesley mom who got pissed about getting a ticket at logan, so she swiped the offending state trooper with the side mirror of her benz suv and dragged him a few feet while he was trying to arrest her. maybe her hair clip might have been price tag-less, and maybe it cost more than a buck, but i still say the likely reason you don't hear as much about the w people is that they don't have as many bloggers riding around with them in the passenger seat.
"my name is ... and i'm from a w town".
Yeah, I know. I'm stereotyping. Some of those women with Coach wallets and Talbots turtlenecks will cut a bitch too.
They're just a little more subtle about it.
As a friend from high school once corrected me--it's "THE" Talbots. (I believe she stopped shopping there when they took the "the" off the marquee of certain of their retail stores, but, never fear, it's all still owned by "The Talbots, Inc.)
Now, see, I always (apparently falsely!) thought of that as a white-trash speech construction, because I use it: "I'm going to *the* Tarzhay." "Do you need anything from *the* Stop & Shop?"
As far as I know, (though, as you can see by my having to have been corrected way back when, I'm not necessarily the world's most qualified expert), "The Talbots" was the single and proper example of "The" being used in front of a store name. You still just go to Burberry and such.
Which, while we're on the subject, should never, ever, be finished with an "s". Just Burberry. You can go to Brooks Brothers and Saks and Louis to get your "s" if you really need one, but never Burberry.
Some day I'll tell you all about the Dover Saddlery, and why the spookiest part about living in Littleton was the relocation of their headquarters there. Last reliable word I've had on the subject is that I'm not in danger of being followed here to Lowell, but I've seen horse farms just across the river in Dracut, and I'm not relaxing my vigilance just yet.
I still think, however, that the price tag woman probably bought her hair clip at THE Dollar Store :-)
Admittedly missing your point, I would rather that underwear be disposable than underwear not be replaced.
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