Dear Ambitious Real Estate Agent,
It was the leggings, wasn’t it? I didn’t plan on buying them, but my daughter’s best friend’s mom was hosting a pop-up shopping party, and I found myself powerless to resist those six peppy syllables. All the other moms were telling me they felt like butter, a sensation I had not considered possible or desirable in a pair of pants. Have you ever tried to rinse butter off your fingers?
I was going to pick the least offensive one—solid army green—but this was a “party.” Fuck it. For eighteen dollars, I parted the racks and reached for the most garish pattern. I planned to tone it down with a chunky, oversized black turtleneck sweater and add Doc Martens for a subtle punk vibe.
But I didn’t.
