I was at Citi Field, at the second of two Red Sox-Mets exhibition games, just exploring the stadium a bit, when I happened to wander past a gift shop. For some reason, it caught my eye. I felt drawn to it. I moved in closer:
What at first was a faint sense of “Hmm, this rings a bell” instantly became a loud, insistant, jangling bell, like one of those old-fashioned alarm clocks. Wait! Was it? Could it be? It was!
Somewhere, a woman screamed.
I think it was me.
The store’s mysterious, overpowering magnetism drew me in. I think I may have shoved aside a small child and an elderly gentleman. “Welcome to the Touch boutique, Laaadies!” sang a voice as we passed. I didn’t look to see who was doing the greeting. My eyes were fixed, unblinking, on this:
Another woman grabbed one of these shirts from the rack – the undershirt appears to be sewn into it – even as my gaze flickered down to the stitching on the pockets. Yes, they are $85 Mets jeans.
Easily half the people in the store were security. There was a security guard standing by the exit, asking to see people’s receipts. There were another couple guards wandering around through the “boutique” – no easy feat considering the diminutive square footage:
And yet – denim and elaborately-embroidered tank tops aside – Ms. Milano seems to have improved substantially over her early kimono-esque prototypes. Behold the following sweatshirt-type item, which I would not have to have reconstructive facial surgery before wearing in public:
Totally not heinous, right?
But just when I thought it was safe to get closer…..
I like femininity, even girliness. Hey, I’m pretty girly myself. But I cannot and will not wear clothing that has an embarassingly earnest poem (what else would you call it?) where “machine wash warm, tumble-dry low” should be.