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Slave to fashion

A few weeks ago in SF, I tried on the cutest black wool military-esque short jacket at Zara. I was so cute in it, I nearly screamed.

When I turned around to get Mr Bingo and TA’s approval, they recoiled in horror.

“What? Are you a majorette now?”

I took the jacket off and put it back on the hanger.

Not 30 seconds later, a Zara saleswoman tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, “That jacket looks really great on you. My advice is to come back to the store without those two.” Too bad I was only in the city for 2 days and didn’t have time to return downtown.

Naturally, ever since then, I’ve been lamenting not having bought the jacket. This is what sometimes happens when you don’t succumb to an impulse buy—the item in question haunts and haunts you until you feel like maybe you used to own it and lost it? Or maybe someone stole it? Or maybe a friend borrowed it? I’m a little bit like The Dude, thinking that jacket is going to be the piece (the rug) that brings everything (the room) together.

The point is, TA just called me from Manhattan to say, “I’m right in front of Zara and your jacket is in the window. Do you remember what size you wanted? Want me to get it for you?”

He is so damn adorable that boy. And it’s his birthday today! He shouldn’t be thinking about me! He should be thinking about himself!

Sadly I could neither remember the exact cut of the jacket, nor the size I tried on. How lame am I?

3:16 p.m. - 2005-09-09



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