I looked in my closet the other day and stopped dead in my tracks. I’ve never seen so many muted colored cardigans in my life. All neatly stacked against equally as muted button-down shirts. Neither have I ever seen so many knee-length black skirts. All just dark enough to cover that oatmeal you spilled yesterday, er last week. So I’ve officially opened up an account at Ann Taylor. Ann Taylor for goodness sakes! I used to sit bored on the floor in the dressing room there waiting and waiting for my mom to choose something, anything. I just wanted to get out of there. Now I find myself wandering in there during lunch breaks oohing and ahhing at the latest spring kitten heels and asking the perky sales lady if they happen to have that in a size 6 ½. Excuse me while I vomit. I must wander into the thrift store my next lunch break even if it’s just to sit in the “dressing room” to get away from the kitten heels and cap sleeves chasing me in my dreams. So, it’s official. I have Ann Taylor’s closet. Next.
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