The Problem With Penneys...

Penneys (or Primark/Primani/The Depths of Hell depending on your stance) has its advantages, of course. A shop full of cheap, on-trend clothes/shoes/accessories meaning you don't have to shell out hundreds of euros and cry yourself to sleep every time you want to kit out your wardrobe. But, it also has lots of disadvantages.

Obviously, there's the evergrowing serious problem of exploitation and mass production which makes Penneys so cheap (and poor enough quality most times). But alas, this is not a serious blog, and as much as I care about exploitation and inequality, I'm going to have to be a shallow asshole for the duration of this post for the benefit of the blog. I'm sorry, world.

Every time I go into Penneys I feel my soul leave my body. I see people enter the shop and watch the light slowly leave their eyes and the hope fall off their face when they see the stock all over the floor, the incorrect-sized hangers, the mothers screaming for 'SHAKIRA!' across the shop, and the queues - oh God, the queues...

I can deal with having to pick my way across the messy floor like some sort of deranged spider. I can deal with having to nearly poke my eye out with a hanger just to find the right size, only to eventually come out with a size 20 top instead of a size 10 (oversized is in nowadays anyway). I can sigh and roll my eyes through the queue and the queue-skippers. But I nearly have a hernia every time I get home only to find I can't squeeze my (generously sized, I won't lie) arse into a pair of their jeans.

I have a sizeable arse. This is a known fact. I'm not trying to be vulgar, I'm just laying out the facts here. It is capable of knocking over items (I once knocked over my friend's wooden giraffe statue with it and managed to break its head off...the giraffe, not my arse) and small children. Unfortunately Penneys seem to think to be a size 10/12 you can't have any junk in the trunk. I go to put on a pair of Penneys jeans, rejoice when they fit comfortably on my legs/thighs, and then brace myself when I go to pull them up over my behind. I feel like the Jaws theme tune should play in the background every time. So, I waddle and hop around my bedroom like the mutated offspring of a bunny mixed with a penguin. And then see myself in the mirror, pull them off and throw them across the room in a huff and vow to never buy jeans ever again.

Maybe by some divine chance Penneys will subliminally hear me (or read this...if they do, I do still love you Penneys...) and come out with a new line of jeans for those of us who have a little something extra to fill out our jeans. 

To make a long story short: Penneys are not ready for this jelly, not just yet.