Uggs versus Fuggs

My sister called me while I was driving to Target to exchange a pair of boots. The boots were too small when I tried them on in the store, so I’m not sure why I thought they’d fit any better at home. I torture myself, daily.

“You didn’t buy those cheap, fake Uggs, did you?” I can HEAR her sneering through the phone.

“Um, what do you mean?” Of course, I had bought the cheap, fake Uggs. Screw that noise, Judge Judy, I’m not paying 100 bucks for a pair of PURPOSELY ugly boots – I had trouble dropping 30 bucks for the bastard imitations.

“Oh, Simone, come on. Those things are HOMELESS. If you’re going to buy boots, buy the real thing. Uggs, not Fuggs.”

Fuggs.

Good one, sis – thanks for making it abundantly clear how much I truly suck.

And goddamn those Ugg fuckers for cornering the entire boot market, taking up endless shelf space with their horrendous clodhoppers. I don’t want to buy your motherfuckin ugly-ass boots. And now my friggin feet are going to freeze off when I go to Denver next month. Blue toes. Frostbite. Do they even make prosthetic toes? Will Peter still like me if I am in wheelchair? Thanks a lot Uggs, for ruining my fucking life.

In addition to that tirade, the conversation triggered a memory from the bowels of my internal hell. Old cobwebby stuff that dates back to the 7th grade when a snotty, little rich bitch named Allison Roberts looked me up and down in Home Ec and laughed at my “Wear Me” jeans. What? Are YOU laughing at me TOO? Can I help it if my family was semi-poor? Hey, at least we weren’t welfare poor, or food stamp poor. And yes, my mom bought our clothes at a dreadful store called “Zayre” (not sure if this awful place exists anymore, but to qualify – it was lower than K-mart and utterly hideous), but we were clothed, dammit. We were clothed.

Up until the day that whore bitch laughed at me, I didn’t know that 2nd rate clothes were lame. I also didn’t know that I was a complete dork. But thanks to Allison, and many mean girls like her, wrecking my soul repeatedly, I discovered that I was a loser… in cheap clothes.

One day I was walking to 7-11 with a couple of girlfriends (they took me on as a poor kid project, kinda like Alicia Silverstone did in the movie Clueless), when I looked to the ground found a $50 bill in the grass. I screamed in delight and danced around waving the bill in the air, praising the heavens for such a glorious windfall. I was like Charlie in the Chocolate Factory, only without all of the chocolate or the creepy little people.

“Did you share that money with your girlfriends?”

Are you fucking kidding?! I went the mall and bought a pair of “Guess” jeans. And I was cool from that day forward. At least on the outside.

After chatting with my sis, I ended up returning the crappy Fuggs. Apparently I’d rather lose my toes than have cheap boots. Although I hate bitches like Allison Roberts, she did teach me a very valuable lesson – you’re only as cool as you look.

Allison – if you find me on one of these faggy social networks, I recommend NOT “friending” me because I will undoubtedly harass you for the rest of your life. Bitch.