Otherwise entitled, "Old Navy You Are Dead to Me" Dear Old Navy,
How are you doing old friend? I know we have been in a steady long term relationship for quite some time now and while I really wanted to end this on good terms, I'm just not sure we can.
You see I heard some nasty rumors about your having some pretty serious vanity sizing issues, but hey, it was love and I was willing to overlook that because I have no problem buying something that has a 6 or 8 on the label. However, yesterday it became down right offensive and insulting. Why now you ask? Because I was able to BUTTON a pair of "size 8" skinny jeans.
Oh yes. I know dear that usually is my size and so normally all would be well, but right now? I'm six months pregnant. No way that button should have reached that buttonhole.
I just feel like that little figure 8 on the label I've been buying for years is a big fat lie now. I feel so deceived. I just can't trust you anymore.
Speaking of which...I totally get that you are in the business of making money and marketing is the best way to do that. For years you have craftily put little impulse purchases up by your checkout counters and I actually sort of loved the practical/impractical things you kept up there to grab on the way out. Now? You have gone too far. Seriously? Candy? Down low? From the entire start point of the line to the end?
I'm over it.
When usually I would just let my kids "hold" a toy while we are checking out and possibly occasionally even purchase a water bottle, the EPIC battle that ensued as I tried to navigate both of my toddlers through the check out and away from the sugary mood altering drugs, I wanted to throw down my carefully selected items, scream bloody murder and slam the door on the way out.
I didn't. Instead I'm choosing to share my feelings with you here. In an open letter. That you will never read.
How is that for a dysfunctional relationship?