Why You Want me to Go to Saks with You

I decided not to go to Cuba this weekend. The US would prefer that I don’t stimulate the economy of a nation with whom we have an embargo. So instead, I attempted to stimulate our economy. There was a sale at Saks, and I partook.

I didn’t go to Cuba this weekend, so I went to Saks. That’s a reasonable trade…

I walked into the famed 5th Avenue department store with no particular goal in mind. I was just killing time between physiotherapy and practice. And yet I came home with a hat box in hand and a garment bag and shopping sac dangling over my shoulder. I’m a good shopper. A focused shopper. Send me into a sale, and I will not come out empty-handed.

But the fact that I have a knack for finding that dress that hangs impeccably or that shirt that hugs in all the right the places is not why I make for a good shopping companion…

It’s because I’m brutally honest.

I opened the door to my fitting room and walked into the hallway to show my friend my ensemble: a pink pinstriped tuxedo blouse with ruffled shoulders tucked into white admiral pants. She opened her fitting room to show me the orange dress she was proud to have found.

Immediately, she doubled over in a fit of laughter. I started singing “I am the very model of a very modern general.”

“I look I should be handing out cookies and sangria in the medical ward of a cruise ship,” I said. The woman in the change room next to me burst into a loud chortle (she knocked on my door on her way out — she wanted to meet the “funny lady”).

My friend and I returned to our respective rooms, giggling. “Wait!” she hollered. “You didn’t tell me what you thought of my dress.”

“You look like a creamsicle.”

Needless to say, neither of those outfits ended up in our shopping bags.

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