The Endorsement: Strawberry

I shacked at N's house last night on the spur of the moment, and because he and I live a good distance apart (we're talking boroughs here), I decided there was no way I was going to make it to the Upper East Side to change/shower/primp before work this morning.

On a tip from Sunny, I decided instead to stop by Strawberry, the poor woman's H&M, before work this morning to find myself something fabulous yet inconspicous that...wasn't my outfit from the day before. I hadn't been in a Strawberry since, oh, 2003, because, well, we all outgrow sequins sometime, but I have to say it: I love Strawberry. Not only did I find myself an adorable gray babydoll dress and inexpensive black tights for roughly $20 altogether, there was absolutely zero judgment from the gray-haired 50-something cashier as I politely asked her if she could please remove the tags and the security sensor from the dress as I was wearing it.

I received at least eight compliments from my co-workers on my attire today, all of which managed to detract from any residual feelings about my harlothood that my religious upbringing instilled.

So, New York ladies, if you're feeling slutty in the a.m., a trip to Strawberry is practically a visit to confession. A guilt-free trip to confession (financially, anyway).