Up Town Girl - A Shopping Experience

So, I think I’m hot shit going shopping with my Coach bag and Rolex watch. No one needs to know that I bought the Coach bag off Face Book for $75. And the Rolex watch is circa 1955 – a gem that I inherited from my grandmother. And no one needs to know that my mother replaced the gold innards of the Rolex watch with a quartz movement. And no one needs to know I bought my cashmere Jones of New York sweater set on sale – no – on the clearance rack – last chance before it goes to the outlet store. But, that’s the way you have to dress when shopping in Scottsdale with all the plastic faces and saline boobs. I can dress in my most expensive outfits, and still look like trailer trash when I want to hit the sales at the Scottsdale malls.

Now, I have been to Chicos before – and never been assisted by the snotty little size 0 18-year old wanna be’s. But, just last Christmas I had wandered into Chicos with my $75 genuine Coach bag and all of a sudden they were all over me – explaining the sizes – asking if I needed help. When I was making my purchase – extracting my American Express card out of my Coach bag – that’s when it happened – they actually offered me the ultimate prize – a Chico card that would give me discounts for every $1,000 that I would spend. Pay Dirt!! I was finally one of the Scottsdale elite.

Today was the ultimate humiliation. It was my own fault. I didn’t ask how much it was. That’s for people who shop Target – not the Lancome counter at Macy’s. How much could face moisturizer cost anyway. So this sweet little thing in her black French smock seemed very excited that I had not only chosen an age-reversing moisturizer, but also a night cream that was certain to lift and tingle the wrinkles away. She was scurrying around dropping samples of eye shadow in my bag, filling out a personalized information card on me, and making sure I received the right color lipstick – a 24-dollar value. Great – all done – goodie bag filled up - sign here on this little electronic pad that can’t possibly read your signature. I almost choked when I saw the total staring back at me. What do I do? My Coach bag is sitting on the counter. My Rolex watch is blinging on my wrist. The sweet-young clerk is smiling with a star shining from her tooth. As I steadied my hand, I signed the glass that reflected several hours of salary in American dollars. The box that contained my purchases must have been made from 24 carat gold. So what if I don’t buy groceries for a week – and besides that, I have 30 days to pay on my credit card. My complexion will be beautiful – the wrinkles will all be gone - and I will look 20 – no – 30 years younger. Just repeat after me - I’m worth it, damn it.

The Dog Groomer

Finding the right dog groomer has been a trial for me, and for our 13-year old Golden Retriever. The only one I have found that will bathe and trim my little girl so she looks and acts like a normal dog when the process is complete is in Prescott – 100 miles away. I found this groomer when we started traveling north for the summer, stopping in Prescott on our way. After her trip to Yvonne’s, our elder dog would smell so pretty and feel so smooth – just the right way to start our summer journey. But…I’m not going to drive 100 miles when the dog needs a bath.

Once I took her to a pampered pet place not far from my home. Walking into the place, it felt like a palace for a princess. Everything was decorated in pink, rhinestone crowns, and individual little boudoirs with pink puffy pillows. Like the dogs really care what color their bubble bath is going to be. When I picked my little princess up, she was wearing two little pink bows tied with itsy bitsy little rubber bands on tiny little hairs on her ears. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud – and wonder how and why the hell they did that. She’s not a poodle, for God’s sake. I left them on for the next week just to let loose a good chuckle every once in awhile. My pooch – who likes to eat rocks and dig in the garden – was wearing little pink bows. Then the itching started. The poor dog would scratch here, and scratch there. She must have been allergic to the shampoo – or pink princess sparkle – or rubber bands – or maybe the bows.

The most recent journey was to a place with the word “corral” in it. I should have known better. I walked in, and it did indeed look like a corral. There was one short fence separating me from the menagerie of animals wandering around on the other side. The lady who greeted me had several tattoos – the one that was most prominent was the tear below her right eye. She was very nice and helpful, but I still looked at the windows for bars, or a handgun on the shelf. She asked me if I wanted the dog shaved, and I wasn’t really sure how to respond to that. She showed me a card with rectangle drawings of various widths and wanted me to tell her which length I wanted the dog’s hair. I guess I am supposed to envision the flat drawings as hair length. I was at a loss for words. I just said I wanted the dog’s haircut shorter than it was at that moment. When I returned to pick up my dog, I realized my golden retriever had had an out-of-body experience as they replaced her with a shorthaired yellow lab. She had definitely been shaved, from head to toes. All her hair was gone - all her pretty little white “feathers” on her back hips were gone...plucked...shaved...nothing left. In fact, her whole body appeared naked – all except for her tail - which was still shaggy - and the green shamrock bandana. Green bandana?

It’s a good thing dogs aren’t vain and don’t have a clue what they really look like. Just to be on the safe side, however, I have hidden the mirror from her.

So that’s it. It’s back to the back yard romp where I chase my dog around with the clippers and hose spray.