Do you see that dress? I bought it in April. I was on a skinny streak and I thought, yes, flowy linen! I was also on a 34-year I-only-wear-brown-and-black kick and thought eureka, zebra print! The best part? The dress was 40% off. So falalala, I bought it. I envisioned myself wearing it to summer weddings, when I was high tea-ing in Mulletville, sleeping, showering, it didn’t matter: It was perfection.
Eagerly, I rushed home to try it on in the comfort of my home. Somehow it had shrunken in its plastic Banana Republic bag (yah, that’s right, I went back). Instead of slimming my figure, it smushed my breasts together, making them look like a band of deflated muffins. And linen? You sit down once in linen and this happens
Ok, fine, that’s denim, but you get the point.
I looked like a fat, flattened zebra. If a male zebra had been near me he would have rammed me in my poofy ass, not tried to mount me. If a dress doesn’t make a zebra want to mount you, there’s no point in wearing it.
It had to go back.
But wouldn’t you know it, the store is halfway between Mulletville and New Haven and every time I happened to be driving past it, Junior was asleep or it was raining or we were trying to outrun the police. Every time. For five months.
Last night, I finally made it to the store.
I was ecstatic. But when I got to the register, I couldn’t find the receipt. The waif clerk told me that without a receipt, the $54 dress was now worth $20.
“Listen here,” I said. “I’ve been driving by your store for five months, and I have the receipt. I will get my money back.”
So I huffed it to the car, rummaged through the landfill that is our trunk (Chuck, you are a fucking slob) and found the receipt. See, look? I had my golden ticket.
But when the waif clerk examined the receipt, she told me that 90 days had passed since the purchase, therefore I could only get a store credit of the dress’s current value, $20.
Excuse me? What? Based on 30 years of returning clothes, I know full well that people get a store credit for the full amount when they have their receipt. It’s practically law.
The waif could tell I was about to flip my lid. How could I not? I had finally arrived at the finish line —receipt and zebra dress in hand, tags in tact—only to be told that my trek was worth a measly $20.
“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “Do you, um, still want to return it?”
“Never!” I screamed. “I will wear this dress. MARK MY WORDS.”
So now I’m home. With the dress. I don’t care what it takes, I will make that dress work for me. I’ll belt it, I’ll slap it, I’ll hogtie it—whatever it takes.
I’m also starting a petition to Banana Republic. It’s called the “Take your zebra dress and shove it” petition. Here’s what I’m lobbying for:
a) When the skinny BR salespeople ask for your zip code at the register, they factor in how far a BR is from where you live. The further you live, the more time you get to return things. Duh.
b) They make drive-thrus for returns. The drive-thrus also serve fries and Frosties.
c) If you’re a mom, dad or pet owner (or hell, even if you have demanding siblings or parents), you get an extra year to return something. That’s right, MoFos, a year.
And, obviously,
d) The BR salespeople start eating whole apples instead of just 1/4" slices.
Billie Jean said it best, folks. Fair is fair!
$%#&*ing zebras.
P.S. Don't forget, today's the last day to win a free tungsten ring from Tungsten Rings Online. Go to their site, find something for $120 or less and tell me what you want in the comments section of the previous post. Comments close tonight at midnight, EST. Open to residents worldwide.
