Deliver me from Hollister

So, today I had the great privilege, nay honor, of taking my daughter shopping. At Hollister.  Honestly, I may never be the same.


Shopping with my daughter is not my favorite thing to do, anyway.  We never agree and there are always furious arguments flung at each other through clenched teeth and looks-could-kill daggers going both ways.  (This is why they invented Aunts.)  But HOLLISTER?  RUFKM?


First of all, you are greeted at the store front by huge posters of teenaged male abdomens....

Isn't this close to child porn?

Ok, this is actually mild compared to the posters hanging in the store, but you get the idea.

Further along in the store was THIS enchanting picture...

Oh. Em. Gee.

GREAT.....

Oh, yeah, and also, you are assaulted by music louder than a night club and perky, friendly little sales associates who are oh-so-eager to help you spend on clothing what you would normally spend for a month of groceries.  That is, if you can read their lips because anyone over the age of 25 cannot discern the sound of human speech over the blaring music.  And, honey, I am so far past 25 that none of this is cute to me.

Looking around at all the desperate-to-fit-in teeny boppers and their even more desperate mothers (you know, the Plastic Moms: fake boobs, fake teeth, fake nails, ironed hair, perfect pedi, probably spent hours just getting ready to go shopping.  I, on the other hand, did nothing but brush my teeth and slap on a light coat of mascara.  Know why?  Cause I am too freaking tired to care what the bitches at Hollister think of me!), I am ashamed that I have caved and am about to contribute my extremely-hard-earned child support dollars to an establishment that fosters this kind of shallow, pathetic, barely-cloaked sex trade.  This embodies everything I despise about today's society.  But here I am.  Ready to pony up my pennies to make my daughter happy....momentarily.

I so long for the days of the safety of Walmart and Target.  Now, I admit, I haven't exactly checked out their mission statements, but they seem so much more benign than the evil surrounding me right now.  And if one more adorable little boy in this place calls me "ma'am", I will probably go to jail for bitch-slapping him.    

Hollister Shopping Bag

And THIS is what we brought home......