Why I struggle with the Mall.

I can't explain it.
But I gotta be honest

The rush, the buzz, the colors, the lights

they make me sick

sometimes.

I shy from

the smiling people dashing at me from their kiosks

ready to explain to me how their wooden plaque from Bethlehem is the quintessential item to complete my holiday mantlepiece (I don't even have a mantlepiece)

or how their hand-crafted-super-scented-explosive-bath-bombs are surely going to make my skin sparkle (sorry guys, I'm not into the vampire look)

or how the makeup fiends notice that I left the house un-painted today and are ready to pounce and explain how their mineral makeup magic will transform my look (they don't know that I left the house granola because... well, because today I wasn't in the mood to be done up, and I'm perfectly confident walking around makeup-less while wearing my Jurassic Park t-shirt and my hair in a messy bun).

I struggle with the "sale" signs

because their "sale" rack hosts numbers that mach what I find to be regular-rack prices elsewhere.

I struggle with the people

hosts and hosts of people

and I worry about them

carrying bushels of bags with their arms as rungs

and I'm not sure if they could afford it in the first place...

...but why is it that I care so much?
because I don't know them

and their financial fancies aren't my place to think about

but for some reason I really, really do care

and I wonder

and I hope they have wiggle room for groceries

and hope they didn't #overshopoverspendoverdoit

to try and feel better about other problems

instead of facing them head on.

And then I freak when I wonder

if I'm one of those people

that I wonder and worry about?

And I double check my arms

and wonder if I could have done without.

I struggle with the mall

sometimes.

Comments

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God is Good to the Johnsons

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