To Ball or Not to Ball?

I am excited to report that they changed the uniform at my restaurant this week. Now I am required to wear dark denim jeans with a white-collar shirt, black tie and sleek black apron. I cannot tell you how wonderful this change is. Denim does absolute wonders for my ass and I expect an estimated five percent raise in tips over the next four-month period as a direct result. Because of this clothing update, I had to book off an entire day yesterday to shop.

Excited to return back into the world of retail, I spent a full sixty-minutes putting together an outfit to leave the apartment with. I must say, I didn’t think it was possible for me to out gay myself, but I did. Bearing the plaid colours of Club Monaco below the waist, I finished the ensemble with a short sleeve white-collar shirt, silk purple tie, and a grey American Apparel V-neck layered over top. Think Marc St. James from Ugly Betty but with red hair and a conscience.

Walking to the bus-stop I counted six looks, two check-outs, and five turns of the head. One lady even stopped me on the corner of West 10th and Granville to tell me how much she loved my pants. I told her she was fabulous and reveled in the absolute success of penchant for flare. Arriving at the Pacific Centre downtown one bridge and five stops later, I put my boyfriend VISA on standby and geared up for my afternoon work-out.

Traipsing through the designer labeled corridors of The Bay, it was less than ten minutes before I had already met my first love: a toffee brown leather bag. Flipping over the price tag to see what kind of damage this love would toll; my eyes winced at the three-digit number screaming back at me “forget about it!” Taking a picture to remember him with, I slipped his leather strap from my shoulder and walked away without looking back.

Ten stores and zero purchases later, it suddenly hit me that I was broke. Shedding a tear for days gone by, I became nostalgic for my balling life back in Winnipeg. How exquisite life was back then in the prairie oasis: where rent was cheap, clothes were marked down to clear and good red wine didn’t require a down payment. “Seriously Fox?” I stopped myself in the middle of the food court. “You moved to Vancouver and doubled your rent again why?”

Reaching the climax of what could’ve potentially been a devastating existential crisis, for a split-second I debated calling the very-rich Nate to help me out. “Hey! It’s me, that really hot redhead from the other night … yeah that one, the only one. You know I was thinking about our first date again, and even though I said it would never work, I am starting think it just might. Why don’t you come down and meet me in the men’s Burberry section of Holt Renfrew and we’ll talk about it.”

But alas, I kept my dignity intact and resigned myself to the hour-long line-up for the fitting room at H&M. Thinking it was time to start brainstorming more ways to make money, I have decided to charge my readers $50 a blog. I still have yet to work out the exact details, but in the meantime we will have to go by the honour system. So as of this post, please make all cheques payable to “R. Fox. 24 Boxed Wine Road. Vancouver, B.C.” Discounts are not given for spelling or grammar mistakes.