A few months ago, I found myself in a Spencer’s Gifts mall retail store. And like the best/worst fever dreams, I woke up sweating and terrified in a Dumpster. Seeing that the terrifying images haunted my memories and nightmares several months after the horrific event, I knew that I had to confront my fears of THAT PLACE.
And confront my fears I did.
And now I have new fears.
No, I am NOT a “lucky bitch,” aggressive hat.
Oh, I get it: “high maintenance” as in being high and ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzz………..
For the fashionable person that wants to be arrested for suspicion of carrying pot.
The dude that finds lady that is susceptible to advice from clothing accessories is indeed the
luckiest douchiest of the Irish.
Here is what I call the “Shirt Suite of Shame”:
(Anyone still saying this in a non-ironic manner should be forced to be Charlie Sheen’s wife/girlfriend for a year.)
This dude was SO excited to see the shirts. He actually said, “Honey, they got the new ones in!” I said something unintelligible due to the blood in my throat from my brain exploding.
You can’t have a trip to Spencer’s without questionable Insane Clown Posse Juggalo merchandise:
And then, of course, came the “sexy” gifts:
And, of course, the plain-old-crass category:
In conquering my fear of stepping into a Spencer’s store, I am now afraid of the fact that people shop here enthusiastically for stuff they actually want and will use. And while that may help the cokehead* owner of Spencer’s sleep at night, most likely on a stack of dollar bills earned from penis-shaped mistletoe, I will now cope with the thousands of dollars in therapy bills I see in my future.
* The owner of Spencer’s may or may not be a cokehead, though someone that traffics in sex toys and pimp cups is more likely than not.