What's The Issue?

"Hellody?"

There are so many issues, you have no idea. Or maybe you do, now that we're close. Either way, where to begin? Here are just two of the pressing matters occupying the metropolitan area of the SJG Keppy:

1. "Hello," Adele's new single. I can't sing it without Lionel Richie creeping in. I start off with the best intentions. I channel the melodramatic, stunning Adele vocals, the overall devastation, the timbre of romantic ruin. "Hello..." I wallow. And then, this happens: "Is it me you're looking for?" I'm cross-pollinating two songs named "Hello." Clearly, a lawsuit is pending. In the meantime, I need a Lionel Richie intervention, today, if possible. Anyone? Hello?

2.  Shopping. When will it become easier? When will it become less of an Olympic event, a feat of fortitude? I'm not talking groceries, people. Oh, I got that down. I go to Gelson's, where I'm worshipped and adored for my smart choices. I'm talking clothes. The fight for the right freakin' fit. The trials and tribulations of a short curvy gal with a worthy tuchas. I'm just going to put it out there. I needed an outfit. When do I ever need an outfit? Not too often. But in three weeks, I'm going to New York City for an event of great personal import. Are you following me? If not, set your GPS, I've already lost the point of this particular issue. Hang on, it's coming back to me. Shopping.

"You're obviously in the wrong store."

In Bloomies yesterday, the SJG was booted from the Designated Skinny Bitch Section. In theory,  I'm entitled to buy Theory, am I not? I can spend $300 on pants and claim temporary insanity. And yet, after trying on numerous Slacks for the Svelte, in this size and that size, even the tolerant salesgirl who works on commission had to admit, "You're not a Theory girl." "I know, I know," I said, and left her sobbing in the dressing room. So I moved on, not ready to surrender. Armed with my credit cards, I found Cecilia, the saleswoman I've been waiting for my entire life. I haven't shopped at Ann Taylor since I bought an outfit for the eldest's Bar Mitzvah almost 15 years ago. But in I went, and thanks to this goddess, this genius of mix and match, who brought me 85 different combinations, I scored a chic, sassy ensemble and then some, and for much less than I would've misguidedly spent at that big-ass department store. Take that, Theory. Or, as Julia Roberts would say, "Big mistake. Huge."