http://www.someecards.com/usercards/someEcards.swf
I know what you're thinking, "Kerry, how do you do it? Style, smokin' bikini body, and sharp wit — how do you not tell people what's what on a daily basis?" Well, that would be my general disinterest in speaking to people. Trust me, it takes quite the amount of effort to feign busyness and preoccupation when someone is attempting to grab my attention or start a convo while I'm in a doctor's waiting room, as I was yesterday.
As usual, I was trying to appear engrossed in something so I wouldn't have to talk to anyone, this time I was playing on Facebook on my iPhone, then moved onto a game of SuperBreakout before updating my calendar. Apparently I did not appear busy enough, as a woman started talking to me. This woman asked my name, said she sees me everywhere, and that our kids go to the same Mother's Day Out. It was at this moment that I thought either I had a stalker or that maybe I need to pay more attention to my surroundings, because I don't recall ever seeing this person in my life. And so I was trapped in the waiting room having to talk to this woman until she was called back and she stood and flung her purse on her arm. This is the purse she was carrying.
People, this is atrocious. How many tiny round zebras had to die to make this purse? Now, I'm all for making a statement with accessories, but the only statement this bag makes is: yeah, the safari had great shopping!
We need to talk about choices for a moment. I don't know who started the circle-flappy purse craze, but I'd like to beat them over the head with every mall kiosk circle bag ever made. Certainly these were first made by a designer, but in the trickle-down to the malls the bag morphed into the ugly we have here. I'm going to give y'all some advice on this one. If you have to have a trendy bag and are getting a knock-off of the real thing, stay within the original color range the bag was made in.
Speaking of, if you have a fake Coach bag with random letters on it, do us all a favor and set fire to it right now. Go ahead, I'll wait. Done? good. We will not speak of this atrocity again.
Moving on to an atrocity so heinous I'm tempted to skip the subject, but something needs to be said. If you are out of college or are old enough to have a real job, you are too old for velour sweatpants with words on the ass.
This is not a good look.
Dear Woman in the Doctor's Office With Two Clingy Children,
There is nothing Juicy about your ass.
Best Wishes,
Humanity.
People, if you are in your mid-thirties and have had a couple of babies you will no longer be able to purchase sweatpants with words on them. Period. For the love of retail, just stop. If you are my age (thirtysomething) you are are not Juicy, Baby, Sweetie, or Pink. You are not an Angel, Cutie, Princess, or Spoiled. What you are is stupid and you look like a fool. Yesterday when I saw the mom paying her bill, wearing the pants in question, it took every ounce of restraint I had not to walk up and say, "Hi, I'm Kerry from my blog and I'm here to help. Let's go to The Gap and get you some pants, then we'll have a bonfire with the hideous cellulite-hugging pink things you're wearing. Don't worry kids, your mom is in the hands of a semi-professional who has seen every eppie of What Not to Wear! I'm like a chubby Stacey London!" I just need my Clinton Kelly.
the "this is my ass" image is from http://www.lanceandeskimo.com. thanks!
kerryfaler.blog 