A Christmas Tale (or something like it)

I had a very interesting experience yesterday while undergoing the yearly torture we like to call Christmas shopping.

There I was, roaming the unbearably crowded mall accompanied by my sidekick – Carolina – when we entered the “Empty Quarter”, my candid nickname for the fashion couture area which has been out of my reach for years: I lacked both the funds (or, better yet, the desire of having Gui divorcing me on a rage) and the body to venture in that area.

Little did I know things had changed.

At some point, we walked past the window for BCBG Max Azria, where a beautiful Marc Jacob’s fuchsia – Greek-goddess-style – dress laid magnificent; as unsuspecting as I was of what was about to pass.

The first surprise was Carolina’s reaction to my newly found interest in that store, and her automatic remark: “my mom’s body has been taken by a fashion-addict alien”. Mind you, this is an ipsis litteris quote. She said it exactly like this, and in English too. By the way, I totally blame the usage of the term “fashion-addict” on the Bratz.

But what came next was even more astonishing: I mastered all my strength and courage and entered the store, asking the first lady (and, damn, they deserve to be called so!) for the L size of the aforementioned beauty. The sales woman came back with the dress and an apology: they only had it in sizes M, S and SS. I then got the M sized one, skeptical. To my absolute dismay, it fit perfectly. And it looked amazing. However, it was only a bit longer than a blouse, and someone my age shouldn’t be seen walking around with something that will show one’s panties at the first heartfelt sigh.

But, who cares?! Being able to fit into a size M Marc Jacob’s is almost as good – if not better, given the cost savings – than actually buying one.


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