Department Store of HorrorsMemorial Day weekend, and I decided to fullfill my duties as an American by indulging in a long trip to Consumertown, a.k.a. Tyson's Galleria.
Nearing the end of the five-hour spending fest, I entered a dressing room at one of the shopping center's anchor stores—the one with the ampersand in the center of the name—and proceeded to try on an item of clothing. Horrific horrors ensued whilst looking in the two-way mirror. "Holy crap, do I look like that? How are small children not nightmared by me?" were actual thoughts had.
The combination of an ultra-skinny mirror and a pallid greenish glow from the overhead fluorescent lighting created a faces of meth-like appearance, which was not at all how I generally picture myself, considering I've never regarded mixing Sudafed and Drano as a good way to stay up for 72 hours. Said mirror instantly dropped 20 pounds off my person, which I thought would be a welcome development, but viewing this result really made me want a sandwich. Or six sandwiches and a cheeseburger. It. Was. Awful. The lighting highlighted all the redness in my skin, every mole. And somehow the mirrors also screwed with my posture, making me both a hunchback, adorned with some ba donka donk.
Don't know how it happened, don't care. All I know is when I think of what I saw there, I feel an instant urge to hurl. All I can say is stay out of the dressing rooms there.