My love, Sarah Head, visited me last weekend. While she was in NYC, we scored free cupcakes (again!!!), watched a Clemson game, galavanted around Long Island, and went to an AMAZING Hanson concert.
We also went shopping.
I should also note that this particular weekend my bank account had been hacked (again!!!), and I really didn’t have any money. So I was poor and surrounded by beautiful clothes—the worst.
I told Sarah that we absolutely had to go to Topshop while we were in Soho. I am obsessed and wanted to casually see what lovely little dresses they had. I was nowhere prepared for the emotional distress that awaited me within the store…
We walked around the first floor—pretty stuff, but nothing too special. Sarah said, “Why don’t we just go to H&M?” And like an idiot I replied, “Let’s just look at the 2nd floor real quick.”
Big mistake. Huge.
As soon as we hop off the escalator, Sarah and I both immediately zero-in on a STUNNING pink chiffon maxi dress. Maybe like in the top 5 most beautiful dresses I’ve ever seen. We race toward the dress, twirl around with it, ooh-ing and ahh-ing like crazy people. We are practically drunk with infatuation—until Sarah asks, with tears in her eyes, “Okay how much?”
I know before I even look at the price tag.
"$300," I say.
We stand in silence, crushed. Yet, I know we are each secretly wondering if we have enough space on our credit cards to make it happen.
After deciding that we are poor, we walk away, defeated.
We try on the cutest little coats, and Sarah buys one. While she’s in line, I walk back to my dress and just stare at it. By the time she’s checked out, I’ve gotten a crazed look in my eye and tell her that I just have to try it on. Maybe it’ll look terrible!
While waiting for a dressing room, we finally decide that trying it on is too risky. It would look amazing, and I’d never be able to forgive myself for not buying it. Better not to know.
I’ll be honest with you, I’ve dreamt about that dress exactly three times since we parted ways. I’m just thankful my bank account had been hacked, or else you’d be looking at a very poor—but fabulously dressed—Sarah Hudson.
Moral of the story: I am not to be trusted in Topshop.