Yes, yes, I know. Well, too late -- should have told me that yesterday.
I knew I was in trouble when I saw the streets paved with 
strollers. I don't think I have ever seen so many strollers in one place outside of Buy-Buy Baby. Seems everyone and her children were out shopping today. One store very wisely had a stroller-sitter out front: a nice way to prevent them from cluttering up the store while keeping the babies safe. (They still haven't found a way to keep the streets navigable and door accessible, but one thing at a time...)
Anyway, I finally got into a store...
Someone told me that black is no longer the most "in" color.
I should have known that sounded too good to be true.
My first thought was that I'd wandered into a non-Jewish funeral by mistake.
The second was, "Hey, I didn't realize nuns also got their clothes here!"
There wasn't just black.
There was black-on-black.
There wasn't just black.
There was black-on-black.
Black with black trim.
Black lace on black on black.
Black on black with a side order of black,-hold-the-color-but-give-me-some-extra-black-to-go.
When I finally found something worth trying on, I was nearly blinded by the whiteness of the hanger. Can you believe it? White, at least, is coming back to Brooklyn. It's not color, but it's a start.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. I didn't take it off the hanger until I reached the dressing clos-- er, rooms. Chasdei HaShem, there was one available right away. It took me a while to figure that out, though, because each one was so full of discarded clothes that it was difficult to tell whether there was actually a human in there. After all, they were all the same col -- er, black.
It seems I wasn't the only one who had that difficulty. During my visit to the dressing room, the curtain was pulled open more than once by unsuspecting customers ("Shaindy?...oops." "Is someone -- oh!") who received an impromptu lesson on alternative methods of locating empty spaces and friends ;-P.
After deciding that maybe I could get used to the black look, especially if it really is going out (heh?) and I wouldn't be identical to every girl in Brooklyn, I finally found what I was looking for: the price tag. My face promptly turned a lovely shade of green just perfect for offsetting the distinctive black tones of the outfit. Now, I don't go shopping often, so I may be out of touch with inflation rates. All I know is that my bank account hasn't inflated one bit.
Anyway, I think that's about enough tongue-in-cheek griping for one trip. Of course, there's more to tell but you'd probably stop reading about now. So let's cut to the finale, in which the valiant BasMelech emerges unscathed and empty-handed.
Black lace on black on black.
Black on black with a side order of black,-hold-the-color-but-give-me-some-extra-black-to-go.
When I finally found something worth trying on, I was nearly blinded by the whiteness of the hanger. Can you believe it? White, at least, is coming back to Brooklyn. It's not color, but it's a start.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. I didn't take it off the hanger until I reached the dressing clos-- er, rooms. Chasdei HaShem, there was one available right away. It took me a while to figure that out, though, because each one was so full of discarded clothes that it was difficult to tell whether there was actually a human in there. After all, they were all the same col -- er, black.
It seems I wasn't the only one who had that difficulty. During my visit to the dressing room, the curtain was pulled open more than once by unsuspecting customers ("Shaindy?...oops." "Is someone -- oh!") who received an impromptu lesson on alternative methods of locating empty spaces and friends ;-P.
After deciding that maybe I could get used to the black look, especially if it really is going out (heh?) and I wouldn't be identical to every girl in Brooklyn, I finally found what I was looking for: the price tag. My face promptly turned a lovely shade of green just perfect for offsetting the distinctive black tones of the outfit. Now, I don't go shopping often, so I may be out of touch with inflation rates. All I know is that my bank account hasn't inflated one bit.
Anyway, I think that's about enough tongue-in-cheek griping for one trip. Of course, there's more to tell but you'd probably stop reading about now. So let's cut to the finale, in which the valiant BasMelech emerges unscathed and empty-handed.
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5 comments:
Tsk, tsk, you can't say I haven't warned you about the joys of Brooklyn shopping before. Re the turning green, that only works as an accent to the unrelieved black if it is the right shade of green, the one that is in now. I always manage to turn lime green when it is emerald that is in and vice versa. Can't even manage to be stylish when I'm getting nauseated at the prices.
:-D
That's why I now limit my shopping to department stores and my cousin's closets.
This, my dear, is why I never, EVER, shop for clothes in Brooklyn. Food, yes; clothes, no. And since I grew up in a place where there were no special tzanua-only frummy stores, it's no great hardship.
I've been rolling over the floor. You are a great writer. I wonder why the frum community, with its focus on middos and all, can be so rude now and then.
Loved the pram-picture!
LOL how did I miss this post until now?? That was so funny...I also don't shop in Jewish stores for all the reasons listed in your post. Hope you have better luck next time around.
P.S. I almost forgot that I was reading a Bas Melech post...it was sooo B4S style.
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