Anthropologie

A few years ago, I wandered into Anthropologie for the first time and spent twice as much on a sweater than I ever had before because I convinved myself it had to be one of a kind.

A few days after, my husband called me to ask if I had recently been to a museum called Anthropologie and if the admission fee was $128.00. I was mortified when I explained that it was in fact a clothing store and the $128.00 was for the sweater I was wearing to take Josie to the supermarket, our outing for the day. I think he would have rather that I spent the money on learning about an anthropological dig.

I starting restricting myself to only going with my mom. Not only does she have a keen eye for picking out the very best items in the store, but she also has a credit card that isn't monitored or paid by Norman "The Nose" Dunne.

Feeling a little frisky, I went to the Anthropologie in Palo Alto today on my "way home" from the gym. I don't know which was more overwhelming, the hundreds of colors and patterns that filled the room, or the hundreds of dollars I would have to spend to walk out of the store with just one outfit.

I fought of my urges to email my mom pictures from my phone and spent twenty minutes staring at the clothes I was thinking of purchasing before I selected my anthropological attire.

As I walked out of the store, I called my mom and sister and made them promise to never let me go through this alone again. If I was going to dig through the racks of Anthropologie, I was bringing the right team, aka my mom and sisters, and the right tools, aka an American Express with my mom's name on it.