Abercrombie and Fitch

We all survived the summer solstice. The world didn’t end and there was no mass hysteria at the prospect of shorter and shorter days. Okay Ms. Glass-is-Half-Empty, snap out of it.

In other news of the world, the Cookie Monster was assaulted and battered at a Sesame Street theme park yesterday. The Cookie Monster was pushed to the ground, while a father hit and kicked the fuzzy blue cuddly bear-monster. The perpetrator was arrested and contends the Cookie Monster was rude. Let’s take a moment of silence and grieve for the world and her ways.

The day was filled with a judgemental angst. This is probably a result of my wandering into Abercrombie and Fitch before boarding the bus from downtown to the neighborhood. Admittedly this was the first (and the last) time I have ever set foot in an Abercrombie and Fitch store, and frankly I was appalled. I’m far from being a fashion princess, my ripped T-shirts and Boy Fit Capri blue jeans are testament to this. I’m quite excited that Punk is making a comeback, even if it’s just fashion. I was assaulted with perky colors and slinky slogans on tight-fitting T-shirts and stretch pants. It was painful. I had no idea that’s what was in these places.

I walked out of the store dazed. It left me feeling like a fifteen-year-old girl ready to rebel and I got to wondering how a late thirty-something me would look in a Mohawk again. I recommitted to getting myself two biceps.

Today I find myself a little more concerned about the health and well-being of the Cookie Monster and the fate of humanity as a consequence of the recent attack on the beloved blue bear-monster. Some might call this denial, others may call it altruistic. While certainly a number of definitions are up for grabs, one thing is certain – Abercrombie and Fitch ruined my day.