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Wish I could say he was a frisky fella I’ve just met, but no such luck. He’s a huge store that has moved in across the street the size of a city block with racks and racks of low priced items that would make your head, and wallet, do the Watusi.
Camille and Joanne, along with yours truly, were there the day they opened to get our complimentary pair of cashmere knee socks. For free socks, I would have slept on the pavement if need be. Now here’s the fly in the cheap sartorial ointment..they were eight ply.
Why do things always look better on the other side of the fence, or in this case, Avenue?
Joe Fresh’s line of dresses and pants, jeans, jackets and an array of shoes, that from a few feet away, look top of the line… up close display something quite different.
Think Rocky Horror Show on white, faceless mannequins.
“Look at this drek,” Camille said in her best Yiddish that’s pretty bad, “are they kidding?”
Joanne, who was determined to feel good over black corduroy jeans for 19.95 said, “Oh Camille, you’re just too fussy,” as the pair she tried on split up the middle.
“Hmm,” was all I could say.
I do believe in the old wives’ tale, you truly get what you pay for. Image may be NSFW.
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As I told Joanne, who was so crestfallen her thong, once again, was exposed to the world, “After two washings or a couple of trips to the cleaners which naturally defeats the purpose of getting a deal, you’ll have corduroy napkins…at best.”
But you should have see the pandemonium going on, in particular, in women’s sportswear. Was that a pleather parka that just landed at my feet? How did I know it wasn’t real leather? Because you could apply lipstick by gazing into its sleeve.
The other thing I couldn’t help wondering was, where is all this drek made? Are there little kids, way past their lunch, working a foot pedal 16 hours a day somewhere? Image may be NSFW.
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One did not smell a Union Label.
And the other thing that really didn’t sit well with me was their faux fur department. May we define that please? When I asked Juan, the assistant manager, he winked and said, “Dun’t e-veen go dar mommy, da-ust me,” which made me reach for my cell…
Calling the Humane Society, calling the Humane Society, come in please.
Camille actually had, what was being touted as faux raccoon, on her head. Image may be NSFW.
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“What does it feel like Camille, is it soft at least?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say it feels like anything exceptional, but it does have an odd odor…like ham that’s been overcooked.”
“OMIGOD!”
I had visions of pigs on a spit soon to be toupee-ed
Never say die, or dye…we moseyed over to shoes perusing them thoughtfully.
“They’re certainly economical,” Joanne said. “I mean where else could you get a little pair of black flats for 50 bucks.”
“Resale,” Camille and I said in unison.
“Why are we standing here with pleather pigs and torn crotches?” I said, hoping I wasn’t holding back.
“You’re right,” said Camille as if she just emerged from a trance. She then grabbed Joanne by the hand like a truant ten year old.
“Let’s go..”
Second Ave. and 81st please,” Camile said after we jumped in a cab.
Designer Resale, here we come.
and Joe, please lose our number because we have just lost yours…
FRESH!
SB
Image may be NSFW.
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Image may be NSFW.Clik here to view.
