My cousin’s daughter is being confirmed tonight at 7:30. I’m not going to be able to make the ceremony, because I work until 5:30 and believe it or not, going from here to home to get changed, grab WM, and then get to the church is going to take me more than 2 hours. This is New Jersey - we have traffic, especially on Friday nights.

They’re having a brunch on Sunday, and we’ll be attending that. In my family confirmation only means 1) no more religious education for the kid and 2) a party. I love the kid to pieces, but …she’s not going to become a nun and she’s not even mildly interested in matters of faith. I picked up a typical girly “congratulations on your confirmation Jesus loves you!” card. But the gift…what do you get today’s worldly 13-year-old girl? I’m going to assume that she’s not pining for a leather-bound bible and she’s not going to wear any cross jewelry.

So I tap into the 2% of me that still knows what the young’uns like and decide to screw the sentimentality, be the “cool” relative and get her a Hollister gift card. The kids like Hollister. So yesterday at lunch I swing by the mall and find Hollister.

Let me tell you, even in my youth, I was not cool enough to walk into Hollister. Nor did I have enough money. I now have the money, but the coolness? Not there.

Hollister in the Cherry Hill Mall looks like a beach house in the front, complete with porch. Once you pass the porch you can choose to walk the “Dude” way or the “Betty” way. I guessed I’m a “Betty” so there I went. And the music was LOUD. VERY loud! Booming loud. Loud with bands that think they’re really hip and emo and fresh but instead sound like Green Day did 15 years ago. I cannot hear a thing other than the music.

Greeter: Mmph, mmmmph mffsf… mphf.
Me: WHAT?!?!??!
Greeter: (yells) WELCOME TO HOLLISTER. BE SURE TO CHECK OUT OUR SWIM LINE.
Me: THANKS!!!

I navigate around the displays of tiny shorts and tiny teeshirts and find the cashier. She’s at the back, where “Dudes” and “Bettys” merge. (That’s hot!) She already knows it’s loud, so she starts yelling from the get-go.

Cashier: “CAN I HELP YOU?”
Me: “I’D LIKE A GIFT CARD PLEASE!”
Cashier: “SURE! THEY’RE ALONG THE FRONT HERE.”

She waves at a display, and it’s apparent that I get to choose my own card design. The design choices were…

• Topless guy
• Topless guy
• Topless guy
• Topless guy About to Make Out with a Girl
• Topless guy Snuggling with a Girl

How do you know you’re getting older? You start yelling at strangers in Wegmans and in the very the same week initiate a conversation that goes like this:

Me: “EXCUSE ME!”
Cashier: “YES?”
Me: “DO YOU HAVE ANY CARDS WITH JUST HOLLISTER ON THEM? THIS IS FOR A THIRTEEN YEAR OLD GIRL!”
Cashier: “NO, SORRY!”

I ended up choosing “Topless guy Snuggling with a Girl,” as it seemed to be the most innocent. I exited without checking out the swim line.

I ended up stopping at Walmart on the way back to work. Saw a cute top for only $11.99, momentarily pondered the unhipness of Walmart clothing and bought it anyway. I’ve received 4 compliments on it already and I’ll probably wear it to the brunch.

So Sunday morning, this girl whom I held as a newborn will be opening up a “Jesus Loves You!” card and have a gift card sized piece of soft porn slide out into her lap. And she’ll love it and think I’m cool, as long as I don’t let on that this Betty is wearing Walmart couture.

Posted at: 1:45 pm in Family/Friends, General Both comments and pings are currently closed.
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