Porexia Part II

We couldn't help but read or hear about the dismal retail season over the last few months: customers are staying away from stores, or trading down. I stayed away from stores largely because I was too busy and tired, but I happened to be near some malls anyway a few days this week and decided to make up for lost time. Something was amiss-- salespeople were either AWOL when I needed them (and usually, I don't, which leads me to my next point) or in my face when I just wanted to browse. I came away with relatively little damage (a pair of wool pants from Banana-- I had a few minutes before Gina got to the mall for our little shopping excursion; and a faux leather bag from Benetton big enough to hold my gym clothes yet small enough to pass for a handbag). I bought a few things at Macy's to run down a gift card that my mother regifted to me, but that doesn't count. In the mood to burn the rest of the gift card and not set foot in Macy's again, I stopped by the Origins counter and began browsing... but didn't get far, because the sales assistant kept talking to me. She was probably bored. And she was probably trying to help. But I just wanted to browse... so letting me browse would have been helpful. But I digress. She asked me what my skin issues were, and I said pores. And suppressed an eye-roll and said I had perfect skin (which is kind of funny because when my mother's not telling me I've gained weight, she's asking me what's wrong with my skin).

So I guess it's true. No one else can see our pores.