|Yeah, they’re cornrows. Jealous?|
I’m not really much of a mall-goer. I hate paying full price for anything, and all the stores are dark and loud and, while I hate paying full price for something, paying 3x full price makes me physically ill. I’ll be queasy for days if I try to wear some gillion dollar shirt. And you’re all like, well, that is because you are old. But I was like this when I was a teenager. Many a Saturday was spent at the mall with my friends, trying to keep the Ronald Reagan quotes to a minimum, and not buying anything.
Not that it showed. I was always extremely fashionable, thanks to our tendency to shop almost exclusively at Goodwill and The Fire Sale. My mom kept the resale industry in business back then, and so I dressed like an upwardly mobile young executive during my “civilian” time. The majority of the time I was wearing a uniform, a plaid pleated skirt and button-down white oxford. I think you’ve got the picture. All hot, all the time.
I was originally writing this blog about how much I love Cinnabon, I don’t even know what has happened. It’s like I have no control over this keyboard, which is communicating directly with the awkwardest parts of my brain. In high school, I got this boyfriend, maybe you know him? Back then, he was the highest rated salesman at Service Merchandise, which I don’t even think is a thing anymore, and you have to ask yourself, was it because of the name? I mean, what does it say? We sell service? If I remember right, they sold everything, jewelry, home appliances, and electronics, which is where the MOG really shone. He could sell a Laserdisc like nobody’s business.
So he had cash and he loved the mall and my parents were pretty sure that nobody got pregnant and dropped out while shopping at the mall, so it was one of our favorite locations for all day dates. He’d buy overpriced stuff and I’d eat Cinnabons. It was great.
Somewhere in between Nirvana and Avril Lavigne, Cinnabon started shutting down. I mourned it like a lost loved one. Sometimes I’d drive an hour to Deerbrook Mall, because I wanted to be mugged while eating a cinnamon roll. Eventually they were only at Schlotzky’s and the airport, but they were all wrong. Listen, people, this is important information.
It all comes together, because today, as I was thrift-shop-hopping in search of workout pants that don’t make me think of Sally Field, I saw a billboard advertising Cinnabons at Burger King. EXACTLY LIKE AN OPEN VISION OR SOME WONDERFUL HEAVENLY REVELATION. I obeyed. And it was awesome. Kinda makes me want to bust out my Seventy-Sevens album and find those ABC pants.
*this post was not sponsored in any way by Cinnabon, but if they wanted to give it a shot, I’m totally down.