Remember when I wrote, no one in New York was Christmas shopping? That’s because everyone was at Bloomingdales.
Twice a year I go there to buy my Laura Mercier concealer that has risen to the price of gold. That Laura has the balls, or dark circles, of a rhino.
Dodging the squad of sales people who are like the paparazzi with perfume, I couldn’t get over the women frantically buying top-of-the-line make-up all in fur coats.
If I had had a couple of drinks in me, I would have thought I was in the forest. You couldn’t move. When usually I’d run in and out, I was stuck behind this hysterical herd.
After finally making my bi/annual purchase, I couldn’t get out the door, and these girls wouldn’t budge. Most of them were overweight dragging their ugly Birkin bags giving them collectively bad posture. I had three words for this furry group…CALCIUM with D.
Have I ever mentioned I’m claustrophobic? I started sweating needing air in a big way. Panic came a’callin provoking me to do what any other insane, get me the fuck outta here, Italian girl would do who had a nutty mother as her mentor, she whispered rather loudly…. I SMELL SMOKE!
You never saw so many minks and sables, beavers and even a fox or two move that fast, like a stampede at Yellowstone.
I know it was a cheap shot, but this is New York folks, a survival town…a little like Dodge and let’s just say, it was high noon at Bloomies.