losing my v card.

ok, not really. i’m not exactly an old french whore or anything, but i am 34 and divorced… you do the math.

but there is an equally scandalous V word that i have been keeping a bit of a secret lately- VEGAN.

now, i’ve been a vegetarian for almost 5 years now- and that’s no big deal. and for the entirety of that 5 year period, i’ve clutched desperately to my dairy and eggs. oh, i’ll get cage free. oh, i’ll get local. oh, i’m pretty sure that’s responsibly farmed. and i did it not necessarily because i really believed those things i was telling myself, but because cheese and eggs and butter are so ungodly delicious, that i couldn’t fathom giving them up. not ever.

weekend pickthrough: a lesson in customer service edition.

today, something really lame happened. possibly my lamest retail run-in ever.

i was at the mall trying on dresses, and was feeling uncertain about a strapless number with somewhat poorly located pockets. still pretty cute, and at $19.99… definitely worth consideration.

so i threw a belt on it, walked out of the dressing room, and asked the nearest sales associate if she thought it was too poofy around the waist. as in: is the excess pocket fabric making it unflattering? (i may have even motioned to the bunchiness with my hand.)

apparently i wasn’t clear enough, because her response knocked me on my ass: