Hollister makes me claustrophobic. 

We were at the mall to get my glasses adjusted. I bought them at Lens Crafter’s & don’t trust anyone else to touch them. I also wanted to go get freezer stuff from Sam’s. They were closed (grrr). It seemed like a long way to drive for a five minute trip, so we walked around the mall. My sweet husband thinks I’m a size 6 and that I can wear Hollister stuff, so he goes in to check it out. Their scarves fit me, so I follow. I nearly have a panic attack when this baby in the vicinity of the dressing rooms is screaming bloody murder, and the plants keep brushing me, and it’s so dark you can’t even see halfway to the back of the store, and it’s hot, and stifling, and smells like last years’ cologne and juvenile pheromones. I bumped into a weird wiry girl, I thought she was a mannequin. I apologized and she shook her head back and forth real fast, like she was a refugee or something. Bizarre. I fumble, stumble, and grope my way back to the free air and light, devoid of palm trees & teeny boppers. Geez.

I think that will be my last trip in there for my lifetime.