Diamonds on the souls of her shoes.

I went to the prestigious mall in the uppity suburb close to where I live.  Not by choice, but I had to pick something up for my husband (contacts).  This is the mall that has the types of stores you’d find on Rodeo drive in Beverly Hills (I live very, very far from there).  The kind where they have vallet parking.  I get so wrapped up in what I can’t have when I go to places like that.  It’s never been my style, I’ve never really cared about being rich or having money.  I’ve hardly played the lottery.  It’s just not my thing.  I’m more of a crafty, earthy momma that makes stops at the dollar store and frequents garage sales; I’m happy with that.  But there’s just something about walking past a Pottery Barn or a Coach store that strikes my jealousy nerve.  I’m just envious that I can’t have whatever I want, whenever I want.  I totally think it’s the American in me.  So there I was in my cotton sundress and sandals with my knock off sunglasses, mingling in the frost of the snobs wearing Prada and Gucci, telling myself that even if I did have money I wouldn’t spend it on worthless shit like this.  And then when I got to my raggedy little car (parked in the midst of BMWs and Audis and Jaguars), this song came on and I thought ‘how friggin cool, the radio is totally in tune with my thoughts exactly’:

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