Yesterday, my friend (of whom I'm still trying to think of a nickname for) and Mom went on a little shopping excursion. Mom needed to find something for Peanut for her birthday, and I needed to find something to wear on my birthday.
In spite of what Nightmare would tell you, clothing is mandatory for my birthday.
We went to Ward Parkway Mall (the one where the shooting occurred), but first stopping by Chik-fil-A for sammiches before. Mom and No-Nick-Named-Friend had never had Chik-fil-A before. Those two are deprived.
Anyhoo, we went into this store that sells urban-wear, and I selected two pair of Apple Bottom jeans. Both pair fit great except for the legs being too long (which is a problem I usually have with pants). I bought both pair after the sales girl told me they were on sale
Yes, I have an apple butt. It stems all the way back to my early 20's when Kant's sister deemed that my butt had an apple shape (we were comparing butts at the time). Fast forward to a couple years ago when I had dinner with some girls I work with (who are also BFFs). No-Nick-Name-Friend happens to be behind me on the stairwell and makes a big deal about my apple butt (because the scrubs I wear hide my generously shaped backside). She makes such a big stink, the homeless guy at the bottom of the stairs cranes his head to take a look.
So, I'm well aware of my apple bottom. Lilly White Cracker's got an apple bottom. I've learned to live with it. You make best with what you have, which is why I bought Apple Bottom Jeans. Two pair, in fact.
But now I have to find someone to alter them before next Friday. I called a dry cleaner not far from my house, and some oriental dude answered the phone. Yes, they do alterations. Yay for me. I'll be taking them in this afternoon.
Call me Shawty.