I would love to make this long story short, but I don’t want to lose anything in translation, so here goes. It gives you something to do this rainy Wednesday. And it’s not a gripe, although it starts like one.
Most of you know about my commitment to Coach bags & accessories. Buy quality, so you don’t have to buy more, is my motto. (Not that that has stopped me from having one….or two…in every color.) Well, I was over at Belk before Christmas & saw this beautiful Fossil bag & matching wallet. It favored Coach, which is probably what drew me in the first place. I have been adamant against Fossil for several years when I had to take back a watch that broke within a week, I had paid cash, but they had to have an inordinate amount of information, such as where I worked & a phone number there. I told them this was an invasion of privacy. I mean, what did it matter? Give me my MONEY back for your crummy product!
I got over it, until someone from corporate ACTUALLY CALLED ME AT WORK to talk about it. Wth?! Are they stupid? So I vowed then to never buy anything from them ever again.
That lasted about fifteen years. I sorta know how to hold a grudge. Well, technically, I STILL haven’t bought anything, Johnny did. He got me the bag & wallet for Christmas, as per requested. Also a coach bag & wallet, which I didn’t request, but what can I say, he has good taste.
So I carried the new Fossil bag & wristlet for about two months. All of a sudden, the side busted out! Now, I’m not known for my tidy housekeeping skills when it comes to my wallet, but this one stayed fairly organized because of all the handy slits. Where it was supposed to be sewn it was glued. I was furious! This would never pass inspection with Coach. So, I finally made my way back to Belk after about two weeks & explained my situation to the lady at customer service (after being snubbed by two women at the jewelry counter—closest to handbags—but no matter). She was really sweet & asked if I wanted a replacement or refund. Well, I didn’t have a wallet that color & I needed something, plus, I really liked it. Problem was, they didn’t have one in stock. I go back to the counter, they offer to order it, but then that color isn’t listed online, either. They told me to keep checking back, or I could check myself.
Slightly seething, a few days later when it hadn’t reappeared on Belk’s site, I go online to Fossil. There’s the wristlet, but not in raisin. Grrr. I leave them a one star review about their crappy wallet & how now I can’t even get it replaced because it’s no longer offered. I wasn’t the only one complaining, either. Several others said if it wasn’t the side busting out, it was the zipper.
Within six hours, I had received an email from a Fossil representative, apologizing profusely. After several emails back & forth, with more pictures of my wallet & receipt (that I had already posted with my review & in the first email) they determined that the wallet was discontinued & out of stock in their secret stash (which I had already figured). They offered me a gift card in the amount of the wallet to buy one of my choice. I thought, great, I’ll go to Coach & get a good one. It may not match, but that’s just a part of life. I ask them what kind of gift card. “One you can use in any fossil store or our online store.”
No, thank you. Why would I want another one of your subpar products that doesn’t even match?
This all transpired about two weeks ago. Yesterday, I finally make it back to Belk. I go back to the Customer Service counter. Once again, I explain my situation, producing wallet & receipt. She gives me a disbelieving look & sends me to a lady manning the jewelry counter. She is waiting on another customer, but notes this encounter out of the corner of her eye. I patiently wait my turn.
She is nodding the whole time I’m telling her what’s happened & quickly issues me a refund. And apologizes for the behavior of her associate. No problem. Sometimes I pawn the crazies off on my coworkers, too.
I head over to the Estee Lauder counter to get my foundation, happily noting I’ve timed this perfectly to coincide with gift. There are a few things in this world that make me feel like a grown-up. One is standing at the meat counter at the grocery store, selecting cuts of beef, and another is the makeup counter, selecting new cosmetics. The lady there is super friendly, hunts up my foundation (had to go to the stockroom), helped me select a lipliner, then informs me that if I spend $19 more dollars, I’m eligible for the nighttime cream valued at a gazillion dollars.
I hedge. I need Step 2 (toner) & gel moisturizer but I’m loyal to Clinique on those products. She senses my hesitation & starts talking to me about skincare & starts slathering my hands with moisturizer. I’m not convinced. “Well, this one is closer to what you’ve been wearing. It’s a gel formulation, but it has the age-defying hydroxyl bentromalate.” (or whatever the heck she said.) in my head I’m thinking, “I have wrinkles. Age defying might not be a bad idea.” So I buy it & their toner so I don’t have to deal with Clinique too. In turn, I scored the priceless night cream stuff AND she gave me an extra gift. Plus she made me a new card, because my last TWO have been lost in the shuffle. She informed me she was the new counter manager, she’d came from Lancome, and gave me her updated card with numbers & extensions & the like. I thought, “wow. She’s really doing a thorough job.”
I THOUGHT she told me my total was “121.57.” I handed over my newly acquired gift card for seventy-odd dollars, & she ran it, & told me my new balance, which I thought she said was “121.57.” Again. Same total. Whatever, I’ll check my receipt. Surely she slid my card & just looked at the old total. She sends me off so I walked over into clothing & surreptitiously slipped my ticket out of my bag to check it. No, there it was, the gift card taken off. So I must have heard her wrong the first time.
I continue merrily shopping. My library meeting didn’t start till 5:30, technically, so I had loooooadsssss of time. I make my way to the Crown & Ivy section, my favorite. Cute summer dresses abound. One had bees all over it! (Not real bees, you ding.) I decided I might should try them on. Last time I thought it would fit, but not even close. I was feeling strong today, so maybe I wouldn’t cry.
Although, what is it about the lighting in dressing rooms? Do they find the cruelest electricians in all the land & they think this is a way to get even with all the women who have made their lives miserable? Or is it the clothing managers are in cahoots with the makeup counters to sell age-defying antioxidants for the face? Probably they should be partners with local gyms, by the look of my legs I could totally benefit. Oh well. At least I had some stuff for my wrinkles.
None of the dresses fit, but that’s ok. I understand some designers think women are twigs. I am not a twig & it’s okay. I like cupcakes. Thank God for palazzo pants, which are back in style again this year. Looks like I’ll be living in them. I purchased two pairs, & a maxi skirt & checked my watch.
Oh, snap. Time flies when you’re trying on clothes & shopping sales. Nearly an hour had passed since I had last looked at my watch. I was almost late for the meeting. I breeze in (of course, the last one, as always), scarf down a salad & a tiny smidgin of some apple dessert (you’re WELCOME, fat legs), & listen attentively to library business for the next two hours or so.
I get home & unloading my bags & decide to check my receipt one more time.
SIXTY-EIGHT DOLLARS?!?!!?
What in Michael Jackson’s name did I spend SIXTY EIGHT DOLLARS ON?!?!?!
I lay out my cosmetics one by one.
Foundation. $37.
Lip liner. $22.
Earrings. (oh yeah. $16.)
Toner. $32.
Age Defying Lotion $68.
OH. MY. STARS.
I actually turned red. No wonder she was being so nice to me! She saw a sucker! I never thought to ask how much it was. It may have been marked, but I doubt it. I know that you can get moisturizer all day long for $10-$15 at Walgreens, probably less if you buy store brand. I know that the wrinkle cure stuff is more expensive, but Holy Mother SIXTY EIGHT DOLLARS??!?!!? I’d rather have wrinkles. For sixty eight dollars I could eat at Ruth’s Chris & bloat myself to get the wrinkles smoothed down. Much more enjoyable regimen, anyway.
I packed its one point seven ounces right back in the bag with my receipt to head back to Estee Lauder today. And I’m taking back one of the gifts. It’s only right. Sure, I’m embarrassed, but SIXTY EIGHT DOLLARS?!!? THEY should be embarrassed!! So, anyway.
There’s how a sixty eight dollar wallet with faulty glue turned into a sixty-eight dollar lotion for my face that will turn into a sixty eight dollar credit yet again. Geez.
Sorry if you read all this. I know it’s a let down, but I very nearly collapsed in my bedroom last night from a heart attack. If it happens later on, know this was the cause. Sue Estee Lauder.
Later: So I have returned from Belk. I carried in my sorry bag & noted with a lift that it was a different girl from yesterday manning the counter. This one was younger, so I figured she might understand my woe. She was waiting on an elderly lady, who was dickering about the price of a handbag. I waited placidly, trying to keep a smooth face, so anybody could I see I clearly didn’t need the wrinkle cream. Meanwhile I’m studying the display of various creams & serums. The prices ARE marked, subtly, in light gray letters, about a 1/2″ tall at the bottom. Hmph. Good thing she didn’t sneak one of the $98 dollar ones in on me! I WOULD have died. So, here comes the Lancome lady, looking all polished with her acrylic nails & perfect lipstick. “Can I help you?” “Yes, ma’am. I need to return this…” I say weakly. “Ok…” Her friendly smile turned into a faint frown. She’ll be needing some $68-$98 wrinkle cream. But she probably gets a big discount. Anyhoo, she says, “Well, what is it?” I’m being a little shy. “This day wear gel with Age Defy…” Her eyes widen & she touches my arm. “Don’t you like it?” “No, I didn’t even try it…I didn’t realize how expensive it is…” At this, the elderly lady turns to me. “Oh, honey, it WORKS.” “I’m sure it does. But I’m not paying $68 for it. And I know, I know, it’s better than the $15 stuff you get at Walgreens–” “Oh, thus stuff is sooooo much better than that–” they interrupt. “I KNOW. I’M saying I AIN’T payin’ no sixty eight dollars for snake oil!” At this point, three different skincare representatives have surrounded me, along with another little old lady who had joined the first. Whatever crack they had envisioned in my resolve was quickly fused & she led me over to the Lancome counter to process my refund. “Ok…this was on a gift card… not sure how I’m gonna do this.” No, a hundred some-odd dollars was on my Belk charge.” “Oh, I see….” She finally figures out how to credit it, then she starts back in, telling me how all cosmectics are gonna be 20% off tomorrow, I should come back & try it then. I narrow my eyes. “Wish she’d told me that YESTERDAY when I was buying all this crap.” “Well, I’m just saying that tomorrow would be a good time to try it.” In my head I’m thinking ‘do I really look that bad? I know these lights don’t do a thing for me, but hell-o.’ Out my mouth, I stuttered. “No. No-no-no.” “Okayy….” …..then I venture over to the Clinique counter where I stocked up on eye primer, Happy, & blush, & ended up spending $93 on presale so I can get the sale price. *sigh* I’ll never win.
You know how statistics show the best marriages have no secrets?
Well, that’s bull.
Because if Johnny had just walked in on me in the bathroom in the last fifteen minutes, he would have run for the hills. And not the ones behind the house. The ones in like, Canada.
I’ve been subscribed to Ipsy for a year now. They send out these flashy little packages once a month called “Glam Bags” filled with travel sizes of new cosmetics, face care products, & most recently, an eyelash curler. Anyway, I’m not much of a girly girl & all this crap has been piling up under the counter. I decided to put some of it to use tonight. Namely, an exfoliating mask. Harmless enough. I’ve used them before. They’re kinda fun because your face tingles.
I pull off the safety seal & squirt some on my index finger to apply. It looks like mud, which is typical. I begin applying it in a circular motion like the directions indicated. It has the consistency of sand. You know, gritty. Then there’s this glob of…stuff that suddenly appears on my chin. By glob I mean something that resembles spinach. I poke at it. Feels like spinach, too. Hmm. I pluck it off, thinking it just didn’t get ground down in the manufacturing process. Then there’s more. And more. It’s falling into the sink, onto the rug, getting in my eyelashes & hair, and stuck to my nose so my eyes are drawn to it, rendering me cross eyed for a moment.
I get the rest of it all mushed into my face & take stock of the situation. It looks as if there’s been a seaweed or spinach explosion in the bathroom. I can’t go out looking like this, so I vacuum up the mess & comb out my hair. By this time the mask has dried & I can attempt to take it off. This presents a whole new mess in the bathtub.
After awhile, I come back into the living room & say to Shug, “you know how everybody says not to have any secrets in marriage?”
He eyes me steadily.
“Well, I’m just glad you haven’t walked in on me in the bathroom in the last fifteen minutes.”
“Yeah?” He’s lost interest already, back involved with his gun magazine.
I explain in a nutshell what happened.
“I heard the vacuum cleaner going, I didn’t know what was going on.”
“I didn’t get it all cleaned up in the bathtub, so don’t panic when you see green slime.”
Lord. The perils of beautifying.
It’s in my mouth and ears, too, I just discovered. I’ll never be rid of this gunk. When I said I wanted to be a mermaid, this isn’t quite what I had in mind.
If you’re southern, and you call around hunting a product, it goes something like this:
“Such-and-such store, this is Do-Lollie, could I hep ye?”
“Good mornin’, it’s Amy at the Co-op, how you doin’?” (nevermind I’ve never met or talked to this person prior)
“Good mornin’, Amy, I’m doin’ alright, other’n this rain, it always makes my hip hurt. How are YEW?”
“Oh, I’m alright. If I’s a pig, I’d be enjoyin’ this mud a little more.”
A chortle. “I heard that. What can I do fer ye?”
“Well, I’s wonderin’ if Bryan was in?”
“Yeah, hang on jest a minute & I’ll git ‘im fer ye.”
“Thank you!”
“Mm-hmm. You have a good day.”
“Hey, you too!”
With that, I am placed on hold. {I can imagine the hollerin’ to the back of the store “Bryan! Line one! It’s Amy!” “Huh?” “Line ONE!” “Ok.”}
“This is Bryan, could I hep ye?”
“Good mornin’ Bryan, how are ye?”
“Well, I ain’t talked to you in a coons age! You doin’ alright?”
“Yeah, how ’bout you? Stayin’ dry?”
“Oh, ain’t it awful? I can’t even let the horses out of the barn, I’m afraid the mud will just suck ’em right down.”
“Shooo. How many you got now? Did you have any damage up at your place at South Fork?”
And so it goes on. Five minutes later, I get down to business, the real purpose of my call.
“You got sledgehammers?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Now, he’s picky. He’s wantin’ two short handled 10 pounders & one long handled 20 pounder.”
A pause while he ponders this, mentally taking inventory in his brain. “Noooo…now my short handled ones are 3 & four pounds…”
I relay this information to the customer standing in front of me, who is shaking his head. He thanks me & takes his leave.
“Well, thanks anyway Bryan, hope you have a good day.”
“Hey, you too, Amy. Thanks for callin’, good to hear from you.”
“Yeah, don’t be such a stranger. Take it easy!”
“Alright, you too, we’ll see ye.”
“Thanks again.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
If you’re from the north, the conversation goes like this:
“Sales, could I hep ye?”
“Yes, I was needing to get some pricing on gates. Farm gates. The type that are silver & have round bars. If I give you the dimensions on the ones I need, can you give me the price? I need to get the prices on a six, eight, twelve, and a sixteen if you have it. And how much are posts? The wooden ones that are round. Do you have quickcrete?’
“Ok, let’s do one at a time. Did you say six footer?”
“Yes, six feet. Then eight, then twel-”
I interrupt, & proceed to give him the prices for everything one at a time.
“Ok, thanks.” And hangs up, concluding the call.
Even on rainy days, they’re in a hurry.
And yes, both these really happened within fifteen minutes of each other.
And another thing, while I’m on it, it’s “Ap-uh-latch-uh,” not, “Ape-ay-lay-shuh.” At least, it is if you’re from here, in this part of the “Ap-uh-Latch-yuhs”.
I’m downstairs folding laundry when I hear my phone ringing. I dash up here because it was the “not assigned to anyone in particular” ringtone. (Dixie, if you’re wondering). Unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Yes, this is KFC.”
Me: “Okay…”
Chick: “In Lenoir City….”
Me: “Yes?” Thinking maybe I’ve won lunch for ten or something exciting. Maybe a cruise! Never mind I have never set foot in the KFC in Lenoir city. This is just how my mind works.
Chick: “We just got your message about the missing chicken in your bag…”
Me, disappointed: “Oh, you have the wrong number. I had Chick-fil-a today.”
She abruptly hung up. Now I’m wondering if she thinks she had the right number & I pranked her. But I really DID have chick-fil-a. The number 7.
If you have plans to read My Sisters Keeper, don’t read this.
I mean it.
I don’t want to ruin an awesome book for you. Move along.
……………………………………………………………………
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Ok. I think they’re gone.
You know a book is going to be pretty darn good if it’s made into a movie. But I wasn’t expecting much, because I’m not always a fan of the trendy books. Take Twilight, for instance. Well, maybe that’s a little young adult for me. Alright, 50 Shades. Gag me. If there had been some semblance of a plot, perhaps I could have gotten on board. But it was trash, plain & simple. And reading the synopsis on the back cover of this one, I wasn’t convinced that it would be entertaining or worth my time. But I’ve read several of Jodi Picoult’s other novels & enjoyed them, so I dove in. I was totally engrossed within twenty pages. I was reading excerpts to everyone & telling them what all was happening. I lugged it to work & the people who really know me watched my progress, surprised I hadn’t covered more ground Friday to Saturday, while others were like, “Dang, that’s a thick book.” By a hundred pages, so much stuff had already happened, I wasn’t sure I could keep up with much more. And the fact that it’s fiction was that much more unbelievable.
This family has a son, then a daughter. At age two, the daughter is diagnosed with a rare type of leukemia. It’s nearly impossible to find a donor match for bone marrow. So the doctor suggests adding an addition to their family. They genetically design a perfect match for Kate, so she can reap the benefits at her sister’s expense.
Enter Anna. Except Anna doesn’t have a name till after she’s born, after the stem cells are taken from her umbilical cord. Her mother was so busy concentrating on getting Kate help, in the form of a donor body, she seems to forget she’s her CHILD.
And so it goes on. Kate is in remission for a few years, and then she needs platelets. Anna to the rescue. Then more. Then a third time. Still it isn’t enough, and they have to draw bone marrow, a fairly invasive procedure, especially for a five year old. She is hospitalized, and her mother can barely be bothered to leave her older sister’s bedside to come to her youngest child’s. Anna isn’t allowed to go to hockey camp or anywhere in fear that Kate will need something quick fast & in a hurry.
When the book begins, Anna is struggling with the decision to give a kidney to Kate. Anna is thirteen. She has researched all the ways this surgery can effect her now and in the years to come. She’s scared, and she feels guilty. But the transplant is no sure cure. Anna retains a lawyer.
There are side stories here, that, contrary to what a bunch of people on Goodreads think, are important to the story. There are relationships between Sara (the mom) and her sister. Between the guardian (assigned by the court to Anna), and the lawyer, and her twin sister. There is the older brother, who is causing mayhem everywhere he goes. There’s a lot going on, I’m telling you. Anna is virtually invisible to everyone but Kate. There are few pictures of her, and if she’s late to dinner, rarely does anyone notice until Kate reminds them.
The book is told in several different viewpoints. About the only person you don’t hear from is Kate, and she’s the central issue. You wonder how she feels, being protected her whole life by everyone she meets. You have a hard time hating her, even though you kinda want to.
At the end, you find out how Kate feels.
Now is the time to heed my warning if you didn’t before.
She is the one who asked Anna to not give the kidney. She’s tired. She’s tried to take her own life twice already. She knows her family is cracking under the years of pressure. She knows she’s going to die anyway.
So all this comes out in court, they go to Kate’s hospital room, she confirms it, and back to the courthouse they go, media slogging with them the entire time. The judge rules that it’s ultimately Anna’s decision, and dismisses them all.
The last ten pages made me want to throw up.
Anna is struck with indecision, she wants to give her sister the kidney, her mom desperately wants her to give her the kidney, basically everyone is pro-kidney except the recipient. They’re all on the way back to the hospital. The father is a fire captain, he gets a page about a car crash nearby, so he detours to see if he can lend a hand.
It’s Anna & her lawyer.
Anna is barely hanging on, and has brain damage when she is admitted to the ER. The lawyer has medical power of attorney & says she will give the kidney.
So you lose Anna, and Kate is still living ten years later. The juvenile delinquent brother becomes a decorated police officer, and they all live happily ever after, minus Anna.
The only thing everyone is in agreement in on Goodreads is that the mother Sara is the devil incarnate. No, I didn’t like the ending, but that isn’t the point. Karma would have been a car wreck but Kate dying at the same time, and the brother getting incarcerated for life, so the wicked witch would lose all three children while she was so busy worrying about her favorite one.
Five solid stars. I loved it.
“Did I ever tell you about my friend who wouldn’t eat the ends of hot dog weenies?” Tuletta says to me this morning.
I snicker. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Well, she wouldn’t. She’d cut ’em off. You know, the ends where they’re pinched up?”
“Yes. Weird.”
“Said they were poison.”…
I’m laughing heartily. People are peculiar.
“Every time I go in the bathroom & there’s just a little bit of toilet paper left on the roll, I think of that. Poison.”
“People are lazy,” I concur. “Tuletta, you’re the one who needs to write the book.”
This morning felt & looked like January in East Tennessee. What I mean is, it wasn’t super-frigid-freeze-your-fingers-off, but there was a heavy frost. As I drove to work, I took the time to admire all the ice crystals glimmering in the pasture fields & birds sitting close on power lines. There were cattle gathered at gates waiting for their breakfast to be brought around by the bundled up farmer on his tractor. As I drove through hollers, smoke generated by woodstoves & fi…replaces lay low to the ground. There was a stillness to be envied by all those in cities rushing around, too busy to look up (and probably nothing to look at but buildings anyway). I couldn’t help but smile as I looked at the mountain ridge & thinking, “I’ve hiked that…I will hike it again soon.”
So you’re probably thinking I crashed ol Patsy into one of those beautiful bare branched trees, but no.
I pull into the parking lot & I get a whiff of polecat. I speed around the building, hoping it won’t get stuck in my truck all day. The smell just gets stronger. I hurriedly open my door & bail out gagging.
Skunks. Now, that’s life in the mountains.
This morning felt & looked like January in East Tennessee. What I mean is, it wasn’t super-frigid-freeze-your-fingers-off, but there was a heavy frost. As I drove to work, I took the time to admire all the ice crystals glimmering in the pasture fields & birds sitting close on power lines. There were cattle gathered at gates waiting for their breakfast to be brought around by the bundled up farmer on his tractor. As I drove through hollers, smoke generated by woodstoves & fireplaces lay low to the ground. There was a stillness to be envied by all those in cities rushing around, too busy to look up (and probably nothing to look at but buildings anyway). I couldn’t help but smile as I looked at the mountain ridge & thinking, “I’ve hiked that…I will hike it again soon.”
So you’re probably thinking I crashed ol Patsy into one of those beautiful bare branched trees, but no.
I pull into the parking lot & I get a whiff of polecat. I speed around the building, hoping it won’t get stuck in my truck all day. The smell just gets stronger. I hurriedly open my door & bail out gagging.
Skunks. Now, that’s life in the mountains.
Friday’s a good a time as any to go on a rant, isn’t it?
So, last night, we’re sitting there watching the news. And here comes this “Heartwarming Story” about a girl & her prom dress. The girl featured was trying to sell her prom dress for one reason or another. It was really stunning, this brilliant purple number with loads of sparkles & yards of tulle. She said she felt like a princess in it. She put it on one of those Facebook yard sale sites & she got two men making fun of how big it is (size 29). The comments were ugly, but several other people came to her rescue, fighting back & defending the young girl.
Here’s my piece:
It would be great if we lived in a world where no one said anything hurtful, ever. But we don’t. Bullying has been around since kids began playing together. In farm animals, it’s called “establishing pecking order”. The weakest are at the bottom, the first ones to fall prey to predators. Somebody always has something to say. I’ve been tormented since a young age for a variety of reasons: my hair, my teeth, my glasses, my overall nerdiness. People are cruel. It doesn’t get better with age. Teenagers will make fun of you for your clothes, your acne, your vehicle. Even your taste in music. Then the real pressure begins, with drugs, drinking, & sex. I know I’m preaching to the choir here, we all went through some type of prejudice growing up. It’s worse now, I believe, with social media making everything virtually public. You don’t have to post a thing to get embarrassed or made fun of. Someone will ensure that for you. And sometimes it’s not strangers, it’s the people who are closest to you, who know where to cut to bring the most blood the quickest. It may not even be ABOUT you, it may be about the people you love. But I do believe that what we go through toughens you for the “Real World”. Your boss is going to say hurtful things, some you deserve to hear…some, not so much. If you work in any sort of customer service field, you better grow some thick skin because you’re going to hear it all. I had an old man tell me the other day he wished he’d never laid eyes on me (he wasn’t joking, either). His wife gasped, but without missing a beat, I told him I wished the same about him. She said, “Didn’t that hurt your feelings?” I looked her right in the eye & said, “A lion doesn’t lose sleep over the opinions of sheep.” That has become my motto. Only two people’s opinions matter to me: My husband’s, and the Good Lord’s. I haven’t always been that way. Really, it’s only came about in the last seven or eight years. I used to cry all the time. I don’t always retaliate, and sometimes taking the high road is mighty treacherous & narrow. But after so many years, you learn who is worth your breath & who is just trying to get a rise out of you for their own enjoyment. And I still strongly believe the people who are ugly to you are jealous, and trying to keep attention diverted from their own weaknesses & failings.
Those men had no business looking at a prom dress. They had less business picking on a young girl, who for all they know has emotional stability issues. But hopefully she got some perspective from this situation & will grow stronger for it.
Anyway, y’all have a nice day. If somebody wants to talk smack, send ’em to me. I can take it
