So I went for round two of my Urban Outfitters heist the other day. I love to hate this place, and hate to love it. I mean, who doesn't? My first trip to UO was when I went to Lansing, Michigan at the tender age of 11-- Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and before I had any orthodontics performed on my mug. This was a time in my life when I thought Michigan was the coolest place on earth, that Jesus was awesome, and that toe-socks we're the best thing since sliced bread.
My Mum bought me a pair of rainbow-bright toe socks (that I wore with my Old Navy flip-flops!) and a pink see-thru, lace and tie-dyed tank top, which conveniently revealed my innie.
Since that fateful spring day in 1998, many a trip have been made to Urban Outfitters.
My latest venture was with my roommate, Clara, who was looking to spice up her wardrobe. In the sale section sat a stack of floppy straw hats. I put one on, glanced in the mirror and Clara gasped in fright:
"My GOD do you ever look like Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music!"
I spun around, arms stretched out, nearly clocking a freshly tattooed punk princess and two twelve-year old, jersey-clad Westmount girls with their Tanerexic mothers in tow.
The hat is priced at a whopping $42. After taxes, this grass-mat-cum-hair-accessory will cost me a considerable fraction of my rent.
The opportunity to be an Austrian governess with killer vocal chords? Priceless.
As my dear friend Axel has gone many a time before me, walking out of stores wearing clear as day its unpaid-for merchandise, I sought to do the same.
We walked about the store, fingering acid-wash everything, while I planned to walk out casually with this massive hat atop my pixied little noggin.
I had checked that no cumbersome security tag was on it, while Clara and I made for the door as we chatted of flattering denim cuts.
I pass through the door, and wouldn't you know it, the alarm goes off. I turn around, mildly surprised, while a girl comes up to me. Puzzled, I reach atop my head, clearly enunciating each syllable as would Ms. Andrews:
"Oh my goodness!"
How could I have EVER forgotten to put this over-priced, Malaysian import back on the accessory table?
Beaming with shock, I handed the hat back to the clerk and apologized for my forgetfulness, then mentioned something about whiskers on kittens.
I guess that strategy only works at Simon's.
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