It is my sincere hope that someone who works at Banana Republic sees this plea for change and helps a sista out.
I played golf today. And I enjoy golf. It was a company tournament with all my collegues, and my dad, and my uncle, so I knew it would be fun. But I had a feeling today might be a rough day because I had planned to play with someone who is no longer in the picture. So I did what any respectable gal might do- some retail therapy. I got home from work last night and immediately headed to the outlets in Napa (because, as mentioned in a previous post, it’s the only thing that isn’t Target that’s open past 6pm on a Friday night).
First off, there is not nearly enough female golf attire available for those women who wish to not look like a man. The pool is shrunken even more if you don’t like short sleeves, like me. Alas, upon buying a new collared sleeveless polo shirt at Gap, I realized that I would need new shorts to make this ensemble work. But since I’m not a big fan of my legs at least any part of them above my knees I went in to Banana to see about some capris or something.
And I found some very cute cropped shorts that hit me right at the knees that are totally golf appropriate and 30% off. Score one for the rookie.
Fast forward to this morning, where I was scrambling to get ready, since I had told my dad I would meet him at the course at 7am. For the record, I am convinced that I’m not officially a golfer because the mere idea of getting to play golf on a Saturday was not enough to roust me from that nice warm bed of mine and I ended up hitting the snooze button one time too many and was therefor rushed to get ready.
Anyway, I got to the course at about 7:15am and got out of my car and turned to the trunk to change into my golf spikes, waving and chit-chatting with all the various work people. As I turned to put my other leg on the trunk of my car in order to tie my shoe, the long black sticker that clearly displays the size of the pants was stuck, running down the back of my left leg. On my white pants.
I quickly swiped it off and stuffed it in the trunk and pretended no one had seen. But how do you not notice a big fat black stripe stuck on white pants. The truth is, you can’t miss it.
And now my plea to the folks at Banana Republic–from a customer who has spent many a pretty penny in your stores. From a customer who signed up for a Banana credit card and earned that 20% discount received upon being approved. Please, for the love of all things holy move the size sticker to the front of the pants to help customers avoid further embarrassment. No person, who is getting dressed in the morning, looks at the back of their pants when they are getting dressed. The chance of them looking at the back of their pants is cut in half if they have not had their coffee yet, which I’m sure is true for many.
Think about this. You pull something from the closet or drawer and lay it on the bed, face up aka sticker-side down. You step into pants and only see the front. You glance in the mirror, you look at the front. One might argue that if you have new pants, you will inevitably look yourself over in the mirror from all sides and catch the evil size sticker. But many times, you already know how your butt looks in the pants because you tried them on in a dressing room and received confirmation then because why else would you have purchased them. In addition to the fact that if you purchase them to play golf, you aren’t so much concerned about that particular feature. Putting that blasted sticker on the front pant leg just makes more sense!
I may not have found a cure to life-threatening illnesses, but if I can save one poor person from the latest form of sticker shock, I consider my mission accomplished.
