A Letter to the Grammar Police

Dear Grammar Police,

You know who you are. You are probably quite proud of your ability to spot a minor punctuation infraction and proceed to freak out about it. You’re the type of person who posts things like this on Facebook along with some sort of comment like “EXACTLY! Thank you! ”

You know the rules, all the rules, and you can smell the stench of those not following them properly. You think because these people didn’t follow the rules in their Facebook status update, they must not know them. They must not be smart. They must not have paid attention in fifth grade (or whatever grade it is you cling to as being the source of all things sacred in life). But you paid attention! You’re smart! You didn’t forget! Thanks for not letting us forget that you are occupying an entire section of your brain to retain every single grammar rule.

Now, I know you mean well. In fact, you are probably my friend. I probably like you a lot when you aren’t reading something, scanning for mistakes. And I’ll even be fair, here. Maybe you aren’t even looking for grammar mistakes. Maybe you’re just a grammar mistake magnet and run-on sentences just jump off the page and fuse to your brain and the only way you can reach any sort of relief is if you whip out your red pen or make some kind of patronizing comment. (Phew!) But as someone with a modest education and teeny bit of insight about language, I’d love for you to let me talk to you about your obsession today.

I don’t want you to think I’m against any and all grammar guidelines. I believe there is a time and a place for perfect grammar. Perfect grammar belongs in grammar class for people who have never learned the rules (some children but mostly second language learners), and at least a certain level of adherence to grammar rules belongs in school papers and published materials. When I say a certain level of adherence, I mean the message and meaning shouldn’t get lost in your lack of or overuse of punctuation and capitalization. Because let’s get real here, the purpose of writing something is to share information or convey an idea, not to exercise your knowledge of grammar rules. The rules are tools we use to keep the message clear and avoid ambiguity. The most important thing is the information. The content. The idea. (WHOA, incomplete sentences for emphasis!) If you understood the message the way the writer intended, let’s discuss the idea not whether or not the writer should have used a comma.

You might actually be surprised at how much you understand when reading something riddled with mistakes. Studies in literacy have found our brains have the incredible ability to fill in missing information to make sense out of incomplete or jumbled junk. For example:

If my previous employer were to read this letter to you, she’d probably freak. I spent a year at a university writing lab during my graduate studies tutoring struggling students with their language and writing skills. I also taught English writing skills to second language learners at the same university. Being in those positions meant I spent a lot of time discussing and pondering the application of grammar rules. This fact along with being a native speaker means I have practically mastered all of the points large and small having to do with English grammar. But I don’t care much about it and in my leisurely correspondence, I often flagrantly goof. When I goof, Grammar Police, surely you judge me. I don’t care about that, either.

I don’t care because you judging my grammar misdemeanors, I argue, reflects more poorly on you than it does me. If you were to research the history of English prescriptivism and standard form (which of course you should, as this is your specialty and a good, accesible place to start would be The Lexicographer’s Dilemma by Jack Lynch, though there are many other books on the topic) you would arrive at the fact that your grand cause which you use to define who you are and who I am is based quite heavily on nothing. There is nothing sacred about grammar rules. Some self-appointed Grand Master of the English language (a rich dude with a big ego and nothing to do) in the 17th century sat down and made up a bunch of rules that he thought made sense and preserved the “purity” of the English language. But they didn’t make sense, and the English language has never been “pure”, nor has any other language. These rules were a way to arbitrarily create a standard that automatically made the way one group used language correct and everybody else incorrect. Because of the rule makers’ influence, these grammar guidelines wormed their way into modern pedagogy and then into your brain.

By worshipping these rules you are in a loose sense worshipping class dividing propaganda. You’re proliferating the idea that the way some rich white guy in England spoke and wrote 350 years ago is smarter and better than the way a poor black kid in urban America speaks and writes today, because that rich white guy said so and he had the means to promote his ideas. This kind of small and obedient thought leads to inequality and discrimination.  Now of course you don’t mean to do this. Of course not. So why is it, then, that you do?

Now I actually wrote a research paper about that very question. What I concluded is that you’re using your mastering (though even that is up for debate, because more often than not you are wrong sometimes, too) of these meaningless rules to place yourself in a higher social rung than the so-called language abusers. This is an easy, cheap and accessible way to confidently say “I’m smarter than you because I never use your when you’re should be used.” It’s a quick way to stroke your ego. Aren’t you clever. Aren’t you witty. That’s lame. You should stop it.

But it’s hard to stop, isn’t it? The world communicates today with the written word more and more. Texts and emails have trumped phone calls and face-to-face meetings. The internet and social media has allowed everyone access to one another’s written self-expressions, and everyone but you is just screwing up left and right providing you with a seemingly endless stream of material to critique. You don’t let us know gently and empathetically when we’ve violate the rules, either. You call us out right then and there and then post a collection of your best and most humorous responses for everyone to marvel at how nothing gets past you and what a quick wit you have.

Electronic and social media is the source of other grating annoyances for you, too. You have a really hard time embracing any new words, acronyms, spellings or expressions that deviate from anything you might find in a 1995 issue of Good Housekeeping magazine or that fifth grade grammar textbook bible of yours. The English language is changing rapidly and you have a hard time with this change. If you don’t understand a new construction that makes it harder for you to be the master, therefore it most definitely is bad. No good. A bastardization of “the best language in the world”. I urge you to gain some perspective (again, read about this topic) and realize that  your perfect standard form was once considered a bastardization as well.

This new world of communication dependent upon literacy has demanded more efficiencies from the language, and there are millions of people out there experimenting and developing these efficiencies through deviations from the standard form every day. These “mistakes” are progressive. Evolutionary. Revolutionary. You are old and stuffy and irrelevant. There is no amount of rules or constraints or social pressures that can truly succeed in stagnating a living language. Your cause is a self fulfilling one. It has nothing to do with the English language.

That’s all there is. There isn’t any more. (name that book!)

The end.

Love, Emily

A Timeline of Celebrity Crushes

Today I’m going to discuss the controversy behind the proposed federal mandate requiring all employer health insurance plans to cover contraceptives and the Catholic church’s response.

No I’m not. Just kidding! We’re talking about cute boys instead!

So many of you have written to me asking me who in Hollywood gets me going. No that’s not true either. No one would do that and no one has. Let me just say though, I cover really important stuff here at random anderson and I can’t possibly think of anything you would rather learn about than a brief history of who on the television has made me swoon in the last 20 years. Marvel at the variety. Tell me about yours. Let’s share our sacred “list” and be teenage girls together this wonderful Wednesday afternoon. Totally not kidding this time.

The Early Years 1987-1995

Michael Hutchence

I was just 4 years old when I saw the video for INXS’s “Need You Tonight” but I knew right then I liked boys. This boy. It took me a while before I realized how much I liked INXS’s music. I was just too distracted by his curls and bare chest underneath that leather jacket.

Jonathan Knight

Listen. I was in the New Kids on the Block generation, though I resisted it. At Camp Glen, the local Campfire Girls’ summer retreat, I received the “Mötley Crüe” award at the end of the week because while all the other girls were waxing dreamily about Jordan Knight and Joey McIntyre, in an effort to seem different and more mature I confessed my love for Dr. Feelgood. The teenage camp counselor got a big kick out of this. But in reality, I had to play along with the whole NKOTB craze so I could fit in, but I did it my own way. Rather than favoring Joey or Jordan like every other silly girl, I picked the distant, shy, sad and ambivalent one. Also known as the gay one.

Adolescence 1995- 2001

Thom Yorke

When I was in seventh grade, I got my first pair of Doc Martens. In the shoe box was a little sample CD with about 20 recently released songs, all alternative music. The first song was “Planet Telex” by Radiohead. From that point on the Belly albums that I had in a seamless rotation took a permanant backseat. I was the world’s biggest Radiohead fan and I never looked back. Being the world’s biggest Radiohead fan and being a girl means that you absolutely must take a romantic interest in a band member. Never one to go for the easy obvious choice, which surely would have been Jonny Greenwood or Ed O’Brien, I took an obsessive liking toward the unmistakably weird, 5’5″ lazy-eyed lead singer Thom Yorke. I threw him birthday parties. Vowed I’d be his wife. Dated a guy in high school, not because I liked him, but because he resembled Thom Yorke. Yeah. Why am I telling you this?

Robert Downey Jr.

In high school, my father and I bonded over watching the weirdness that was Ally McBeal together. We loved it. Got every single strange joke. Felt at home in the nerdy awkward characters and dialogue. Then rolled in Larry, the character played by Robert Downey Jr., and the one hour show quickly morphed into time with my future boyfriend instead of time with my dad. This was really my first and formal introduction to Robert Downey Jr. During my adolescence he was in prison (what a prize!). And if you ladies out there aren’t familiar with his character on the show let me sum it up for you: adorable, witty, sings, plays piano, adorable. Too bad RDJ couldn’t keep it together off screen and got himself fired from the show. My sizzle for him fizzled quickly after that.

College Years 2001 – 2004

Jeff Buckley

How could a girl hear “Last Goodbye” and not need this man? I didn’t first hear the song until a few months after his tragic and mysterious death. So, essentially I developed feelings for a dead man. That was confusing.

Chris Noth (Actually, just Mr. Big)

I was never an Aidan girl nor was I a Berger girl. It has been Mr. Big since the first episode of Sex and the City I ever saw with him. I had a real life moment with Mr. Big about 10 years ago.  My friend Dustin and I were on a little vacation in New Orleans. We got all dressed up and had a spectacular French dinner at the famous Antoine’s. For reasons that escape my memory, I found myself alone on a quiet corner in the French Quarter. It was a very memorable moment. I was in a nice dress, standing outside Walgreens finishing a cigarette (probably so I could go in and buy more cigarettes. I was so stupid – sorry Mom & Dad). I look inside and see a handsome man buying Red Bull at the counter. The handsome man exits Walgreens. The handsome man is Chris Noth. We have a moment. We’re alone on this street corner. It’s quiet. I’m staring at him. He notices and says “Hi”. I ruin any chance of love and marriage by saying “You’re Mr. Big.” He smirks, nods and says some sort of lame reply like “Yes, I am quite tall.” He crosses the street and walks off into the New Orleans night and out of my life. True story.

Now and Forever 

Ryan Gosling

Don’t be surprised by my conventional choice. This is the man of the century ladies. Men, boys, if you’re smart you’ll strive to be just like him. I don’t need to explain. Just watch him talk about his mother and flirt with Ellen Degeneres.

Coupons, Taking Years Off Your Life

I feel bad for local newspapers. Everyday their content is becoming more and more obsolete as the internet becomes more accessible and preferable to everyone. Interestingly I subscribe to the local newspaper, though I only get the paper delivered twice a week, Sunday and Thursday. Thursday is not my choice, just part of the deal. After a few weeks when an unsightly amount collects on my front porch, I throw all Thursday papers straight into the recycling bin. I look forward to Sunday’s paper, though, only for the stack of ads and coupons that come sandwiched between sections of unreadable conservative reporting. Though lately, I’ve become somewhat disenchanted with the act of couponing.

It seems every week, I cut fewer and fewer coupons out of the leaflets. Just a year ago I would sit for a good 15 minutes flipping though and snipping away at 25 cents of this or a dollar off that. This decline in interest could be because I’ve become a smarter consumer. Learning about nutrition and healthy lifestyles is a hobby of mine. And I’ve concluded that most things that are good for you won’t be begging you to buy them. That’s all a coupon is anyway, a bribe to buy something. Consequently, most everything in the coupon leaflets are for products that no one should be eating or using. What’s that Smart Source? You’d like to offer me 25 cents off a boxed snack full of high fructose corn syrup, trans fat, sodium and a bazillion other unrecognizable ingredients? A dollar off a petroleum based lotion loaded with harmful chemicals? Oh you’re too kind, but seriously, no thank you.

Furthermore, this super couponing craze seriously baffles me. People pour over numerous newspapers and websites to collect and carefully organize hundreds of coupons all before spending the evening before the big trip lining up their coupons to store ads to pay as little as possible at the checkout. I can’t quite fathom the time it takes orchestrate this whole fiasco. My husband always presents the question, what is your time worth? The $25 you saved shuffling paper? All to get a cart loaded with crap that will kill you sooner than later. Again, no thank you. I can think of three better, quicker ways right off the top of my head to save money at the grocery store:

1. Procrastinate. You can’t spend money at the store if you’re not there. Get by on what you have as long as possible.
2. If you must go bring a list and spend as little time there as possible
3. Under no circumstance bring your husband.

Don’t get me wrong, I do get that families need to save money and people need to feed their family. I get it. I constantly encounter attitudes that resent the healthful eating movement, deeming it elitist and out of reach for the everyday family. For some reason basic logic seems to have eluded these folk. I argue that it can be incredibly affordable to eat healthy. Forget cutting coupons, imagine the amount of money the everyday American could save if they were to simply eat less, eat less meat, and drink tap water.

I dream of the day when I open up the coupon section on Sunday and find a coupon for a dollar off a pound of apples or a pint of strawberries, though I won’t hold my breath. For now, I’ll keep my Sunday routine of quickly scanning the pages of coupons for a small break on tissues, toilet paper, diapers and batteries and then spend the rest of my morning enjoying my husband and kids.

Silly Rabbit! Tricks (and Treats) are For Kids!

Last night I handed out candy to Trick-or-Treaters for the first time since I was in high school. This is an important point to make: when I was in high school, I was at home handing out candy and not trick-or-treating. I was shocked and appalled by the number of teenagers and ADULTS who came to my door asking for candy. Some of them weren’t even in costume, unless their costume was “cold college student”.

What has happened in this world where adults and young adults find it appropriate to parade around with children and essentially steal a child’s share of the annual treats? People run out of candy in my neighborhood, or so I hear. We did not, but I can imagine how fuming I’d be if I had run out of candy standing before a precious little girl in a Minnie Mouse costume after a woman old enough to be that little girl’s GRANDMOTHER (not even joking) approached me for candy an hour before.

Yes, I understand that I am under no obligation to give candy to any of these people. I, however, do not trust that an adult immature enough to go door to door peddling for candy wouldn’t be immature enough to in some way vandalize my property for laughing in their face. So, I handed over the Jolly Rancher, but I hoped they read the “Are you freaking kidding me?” in my facial expression.

I remember the last year I went trick-or-treating. I was 12. Even then, I remember being afraid of being “caught”. Yes, in my hometown, the police had so little to do that they would stop teenagers and adults trying to trick-or-treat. I really think there was a set age limit in the town. It might have been 12, probably more like 13. It is possible this was all in my head, but I hope not as it really makes sense.

Think about it. There is a reason why you don’t want teenagers and adults trick-or-treating on Halloween. Would you like your grandmother opening up her door after dark to a man in a mask carrying a plastic jack-o-lantern? Do you want your children running around your neighborhood next to some adult with a Jason mask on? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a fear monger. I don’t believe in the stupid candy myths. I think those who hand out candy do it because they love children and the fun and spirit of the holiday. Those who don’t, close their curtains, turn off their porch light and sit in the back room watching the tube for a few hours. They don’t spend all afternoon dipping Tootsie Pops in cyanide and sliding razor blades into Milky Ways. But there certainly could be crazy people out there who would take opportunity in an evening where people open their doors to people with masks on.

And really, even for the adults who aren’t serial killers, molesters and rapists. What in the heck are you doing? You should be ashamed of yourself. Go home! You shouldn’t be eating candy anyway. It’ll go straight to your ass.

Giving Birth is Expensive, Babies Don’t Have To Be

If you couldn’t tell by now, or if you know me personally, you know I’m generally and easily irritated by the world. This probably irritates you. I’m sorry for that. I mean well.

Since having a baby 2 years ago, I’ve become intensely fascinated with the world of prenatal care, childbirth and postnatal care and have found a number of things irritating about the industry. It’s one of my favorite topics to read about and discuss with other mothers. It really all began with the book Birth: The Surprising History of How We Are Born by Tina Cassidy. Since educating myself and evaluating my own experience, I’ve formed some strong opinions. They can be narrowed down to these two main points.

1. Moms-to-be, you don’t want a c-section. Do everything, absolutely everything you can to push that baby out of you the way nature intended. I know that doctors decide for many moms in the middle of an intense labor that they need a c-section. For some cases, the surgery is absolutely hands down necessary. For many others, though, it is not necessary for the mother, but convenient for the doctor. And furthermore, elective c-sections thoroughly disgust me. We’re talking major surgery here, not removing a mole. It’s in your best interest to avoid it if you can, not choose to have one because your afraid of vaginal delivery for one reason or another. How about someone cutting into your gut and stuffing their hands in elbow deep. Doesn’t that scare you?

2. I’m going to go here, too: why the hell not just try to breastfeed your baby. Even if you’re going back to work in 3 weeks, then how about trying to breastfeed your baby for 3 weeks? I understand and acknowledge that not every woman is successful at producing milk and I believe that babies can thrive on formula. I am living proof, as are probably most of you reading this. However, there is a steady stream of evidence that reveals how beneficial breastfeeding is to the mother‘s health. It lowers your risk of breast cancer, it stabilizes your insulin levels and metabolism, it helps you lose belly fat. Why why why wouldn’t you want that for yourself? I will concede, breastfeeding is not always easy. I thought about giving up every single day for the first 5 months. But I didn’t, because my reasons (it’s cumbersome, painful at times, inconvenient and even laborious) weren’t good enough to counteract the benefits to both me and my baby’s health. I’m not saying you should feel guilty or a failure for trying but not succeeding or eventually choosing otherwise due to your specific situation. Not at all; not even close. I am saying I don’t understand why one wouldn’t even consider breastfeeding their baby for at least a day. Meaning the mothers that go to the hospital to deliver and check the box “bottle feeding” without even trying the breast. Go ahead with the nasty comments (it’s your right to choose, it’s your body, you don’t want saggy boobs, blah blah blah).

But that’s not where I wanted to go today.

Today, one of my favorite blogs, Young House Love, published a very useful posting on how they as a new mommy and daddy penny pinch with their newborn daughter Clara. Finding the advice relevant and relatable, I thought I’d share them here with a few of my own. Don’t let rich people (or people who appear rich but really just have a credit card), baby magazines, or the sales rep at Babies R Us tell you what you need. You’re better off asking your mother or your grandmother, or following these tips I found worthwhile from Young House Love.

1. Don’t Waste Money on Baby Clothes I like clothes as much as the next woman, but remember your child is not a doll, but other people will think she is. You will get gifts. Lots of gifts. Your friends and family will not be able to resist buying that absolutely charming baby t-shirt. They’re glad you exist so they have a reason to buy it, and they will. Even the most practical of people can’t resist walking through the clothing department at Target without clinging to that cute OshKosh dress. And even if this isn’t the case for you, during the first few months of life, your baby needs very little. Onesies, socks and a blanket should do it. As they grow up, they essentially need a few t-shirts and pants, a jacket, and 1 or 2 pairs of shoes. They will wear their clothes for mere months and will destroy them in that time. Remember that when looking at price tags.

2. Don’t Snub Hand-Me-Downs Embrace them. Get down and kiss the feet of those that have unloaded their baby crap onto you. It’s FREE. We haven’t had to buy a carseat for Marlo until a few months ago thanks to loans and hand-me-downs. (A word of caution about carseats – know very well who you’re taking them from and be certain the carseat has never been in a car accident.) Your friends and family are doing you a favor by saving you the expense, and you’re doing them a favor by freeing some space in their basement. So say yes to that swing, the pack-n-play, and the over-washed t-shirts.

3. Be Skeptical of the Necessity of Baby Gear You do not need an $800 stroller, and I don’t care if you can afford one. The floor makes a wonderful changing table and even diaper pails stink – just throw the dirty dipes in the trash (my father said he would always drop the poo in the toilet then threw away the diaper). If you have a baby, you take the trash out everyday anyway.

4. Cut Down on the Toys If you want an overstimulated, frustrated baby – buy them a boatload of newfangled toys every week. I’ve purchased 4 toys for Marlo – a walk-behind stroller ($25), blocks ($10), mr. potato head ($7), and a Barbie ($6). She’s received many great quality toys from friends and family, and they have indeed entertained her for hours (notably the exersaucer, the playmat, and her new kitchen), but do you know what she plays with most consistently and has for most of her life? Blocks/legos, books, and crayons with coloring books, oh, and stickers. These things are essential to her and she would probably forgo all else to keep them. Best of all, they don’t make any noise and require no batteries. Also, another place to cut down on toys is in the tub. There’s really nothing worse than having to squeeze out and collect a million (probably moldy) bath toys after you’re done washing your baby up. Marlo’s current favorite bath toys: the water, a plastic cup, her wash cloth, and a rubber ducky.

5. Most Mom-Gear is Unnecessary, Too One thing I’ve learned: you know what makes a bag a diaper bag – diapers, wipes and a changing pad stuffed in any bag big enough to hold it. Also, aside from the hospital rental, the best breast pump I’ve used is a $25 Lansinoh manual (best thing about it – you can pump in a car or anywhere you want quietly and without power). And I never really got the whole “nursing clothes” bit,  just buy or make (a blanket) a nursing cover and lift up your shirt for crying out loud!

6. Boob Milk is, Mostly, Free. YHL reported that formula can cost up to $140/month. You can get all you need to comfortably breast feed for a year for that. Really, all you technically need are boobs full of milk, but these things make the process much easier: 3 bottles, a manual breast pump (so dad/babysitter can help), 2 nursing bras, milk storage bags, a Boppy and an optional nursing cover (I say optional because a blanket works just fine). That’s it, and patience which is expensive in other ways.

The baby industry thrives off of guilting mothers, particularly new mothers, into thinking they NEED to buy x,y, and z or they are a bad, careless and unfit parent.  Don’t read parenting magazines, as they’re all just a giant book of ads. Don’t be a sucker. Talk to fellow mothers; talk to your mother. They know best, as they have tried, failed and succeeded a million times already. Be confident in yourself! And put your damn credit card AWAY.

Best Hair Day Ever

Hi.

Today I am having the bestest hair day. Congratulations to me! My hair feels soft, clean and thick. It had enough texture to do what I wanted it to do and stay where I wanted it to stay.

This morning I washed my hair with a bar of soap.

Just kidding! Wait, no I’m not.

I used the same bar of soap to wash my hair, my face and my body. I didn’t use conditioner on my hair and it combed through like a hot knife through butter. Stay with me here, I’m telling the truth. I also shaved and I didn’t use shave cream (gasp!), I used soap. Exactly what the tell you not to do on TV right before they warn you with footage of some poor lady in the shower whose legs are covered in blood.

But it must have been a miracle right? Because I didn’t break skin and I’m smooth like Marlo’s bottom.

Speaking of Marlo’s bottom, it’s extra smooth today because I washed her head to toe with this bar of soap, too.

Let’s just get serious, here. I’m talking about hippie soap folks. Soap that doesn’t have any ingredients I can’t go and buy at the store. Soap that wouldn’t necessarily kill me if I ate it. Soap that was made in someone’s kitchen. Most likely that someone is a hippie, because this kitchen is in Bloomington, Indiana. And I say hippie with the most gracious of intentions, as every day that passes, I look at Birkenstocks and hemp purses with a little more sparkle in my eyes.

I’m a hippie soap convert. I am.

Here’s the magic soap I’m talking about: Earth Drops Soap, specifically Nutty Almond Cream. You can order online and I recommend you do.

Now excuse me while I go clear the Suave, Olay and Aveeno out of my shower.

Forever 21, A Love Story

Dear Forever 21,

Have I told you lately that I love you? Have I told you there’s no one else above you?

You fit me. You make it easy to make me look like I know how to dress. You don’t steal all my money. You always come through for me when I’m in a pinch.

There are people out there who say we shouldn’t be together. They say you’re trash. That your quality won’t last. They cry fowl that your prices are so fair because your products are made overseas by children paid pennies a day.

What they don’t know is, you can’t walk into a store and buy clothes today that aren’t made overseas by children paid pennies a day (there are a few – very few- stores, but our one income household won’t allow me to flirt with them). This is true for Forever 21, The Gap, Anthropologie and even Ralph Lauren. So who are they kidding? And I think everyone should know, F21 (can I call you F21?), the other day, when you were in the shower, I looked at your tags. You do make clothes in the United States.

And for those questioning your quality, I have something to say to them, too. I’ve had your clothes in my wardrobe for almost 10 years. Clothes that I’ve worn and washed regularly and they still look great. This includes jeans that cost $10, t-shirts that cost $4, sweaters that cost $12 and dresses that cost $20.

I’ve had $40 t-shirts from J.Crew fall apart after just a few gentle washes. And I have a hard time even finding a piece of clothing on the racks of Urban Outfitters that isn’t already snagged or riddled with holes before I get the chance to buy it. Anthropologie, you’ve failed me many a times with unraveling sweaters. The thing is, when I give you $10 for a new top, F21, I wouldn’t even  care if it didn’t last me more than one season, because I want to have new clothes every season anyway. And what woman doesn’t want that?

You have your flaws. You do. Your store is somewhat unshoppable. There are so many styles crowded together haphazardly on dozens of racks, many out of reach. I solve this by shopping your website, which is updated with new items many times a day.

You also have a gestapo return policy. No returns without a receipt. No refunds. 21 days to decide. But I can live with this because when I drop a measly $50 and walk away with four new outfits, I have little if any buyers remorse.

Don’t ever leave me Forever 21. I beg you. If something happens to you, I would be devastated. I would never leave the house because I would have nothing to wear.

You are my everything,

Emily

(who is in no way affiliated with Forever 21 even though she wishes Forever 21 would marry her)