Whoever wrote the lyrics, “Someone told me it’s all happenin’ at the zoo” had clearly never been to the Cherry Hill Mall.
I go to malls as infrequently as I possibly can. And I hate to shop on Sundays. But I had promised to take Middle Sister to the mall for jeans, and if we went today, we wouldn’t have to bring Little Brother along.
The clothes shopping was actually quite pleasant. She tried to find some jeans for me, but that was a lost cause in the store we were in. I did find a cute pair of capri pants, a scarf and a peasant blouse that I liked–all on sale. And she got her jeans.
Then we headed to Forever 21, where I expected to see the kind of clothes aspiring hookers would wear. I was happily surprised to see plenty of very sweet tops, with feminine lines and floral patterns. I don’t follow fashion–is “sweet and girly” suddenly back in? I sure hope so.
The rest of the time, I was people-watching while Middle Sister spent her own money, that she earned pet-sitting for our neighbors this week. Being all “browsed out,” I sat on a bench while she shopped–there’s only so much blaring rap music and perfumed air I can handle in one afternoon, and I’d hit my limit. You can do a lot of people-watching when you sit on a bench at the mall for 20 minutes, and you see some scary stuff.
A family stopped outside Victoria’s Secret: mom, dad and two little boys. Mom took the younger one into the store with her, despite his loud protests, saying, “Mommy needs you! You have to help Mommy put on her panties!”
An impossibly skinny girl tottered past, dressed head to ankle in “junior hooker” garb–and shoes that would be more-likely found on a denizen of a retirement home.
And doesn’t it say something about the clientele of a particular store when you have to show your ID to use your own credit card?
I’ll stick to internet shopping, thanks. The only people-watching I’ll have to do is staring out the window, waiting for the UPS truck.