I found out today that my moment of weakness occurs at the Mecca of gum-popping teenagers, food court aromas, and florescent lights: the mall. When I find something I like and the price is awesome, I buy it. Add in the third ingredient - "Is it made in China?" - and you have an upset Viktorija.
I was hurrying by racks of clothes, on my way to the cash register with an adorable dress in hand (I have to mention that I've been eyeing this item since last September, waiting for the day when it would fall drastically in price), when I stopped abruptly. A feeling of dread stole over me. "WHERE is this dress made?" I moaned. Giedre spotted the country of origin first and crowed, "Made in the U.S.!" The dress didn't go home with me because it had been hanging on the wrong rack and unfortunately, was not on sale.
The day was a success - two tops (one made in Vietnam, the other bought on consignment), cargo pants for Drew (Sri Lanka), a pair of $3 leggings, and a used movie made it home. But I realized I'm in dangerous waters when it comes to the mall. It's much much harder to say no to a very cute dress than some random object at TJMax...
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