Saturday, July 25, 2009

Had Retail, Now Need Therapy

Dear Old Navy,

May we talk? Just us girls? I don't mean to be rude, but your jeans...THEY ARE STUPID! Why on Earth would you take perfectly normal descriptive labels and exchange them for totally cryptic and meaningless words? Relaxed boot-cut, I know exactly what that means. The Dreamer? WTF?!?

I am neither a 'Diva,' a 'Flirt,' nor a 'Skinny-assed Bitch.' Not only did I purchase a pair of jeans called, 'The Boyfriend,' but also one called 'The Diva.'

{Which, may we stop here and just address how ridiculous idea of 'Boyfriend Jeans' is --I would NEVER wear my boyfriend's jeans. Because my boyfriend is taller and, um, not 'curvy,' and that's the way it is supposed to be. Boys have junk in the front, I have junk in the trunk. There IS a difference.}

Now to 'The Diva,' which also happened to be 3 SIZES BIGGER than the pants I wore INTO the dressing room! This does not make me feel like a Diva. Unless you mean 'Diva' in the Opera Singer kind of way. Then yes, I do feel like a very large woman wailing in hysterics.

Now look what you made me do, Old Navy. You made me say hurtful things about Opera. Now I need to write Opera a letter of apology.

I try to tell myself that it's just a number, but I know the first time I wear them in public I'll imagine my thighs rubbing together in rhythm to "fat.ass.fat.ass." Which is sure to earn 'The Diva' a permanent spot in my closet.

I hate to say it, but your cheap prices may not be enough to heal the hurt I feel.

And now I sound like a country song, It never ends with you, Old Navy!

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