So, last month, Drew showed up in this thick duster, kinda woolly, a muddled mix of popcorn and knit, heavy on texture. I loved it, cept it was predominantly black and so I told her I loved it and she thanked me and then I batted my lashes and asked her, “Do you recall, did they have this sweater in other sorta Joey-friendly colors?”
“Actually, yes, there was a cream one with blues.”
“May I see the label please?”
She graciously consented.
I went home and Googled said sweater.
I FOUND IT!
And it was sold out online.
I no could order sweater.
Well fuck a duck.
I really liked that sweater.
Because I am such a good mom, I took heed the pleas of my daughters who needed — neeeeeeeded to spend their Target gift cards and eat Homophobic chicken. Friday I left work RIGHT BY THE FREAKIN TARGET and HOMOPHOBIC CHICKEN to drive all the way home, pick them up and drive all the way back.
They’ve got goat cheese pizza at Target, you know. And they have fruit and Skinny Pop and ice cream and coffee and spaghetti and bread and ground beef and cheese and and and I did all my shopping at Target Friday instead of going to the goddamned grocery store.
They also had MY SWEATER. The very last one was in my size.