Once a year I am lucky enough to be able to take a girls’ trip with some of my favorite people in the world. We’ve gone to Cabo and Austin, Denver and San Diego, but one of our favorite go-to spots is Palm Springs, and not just because one of us has a killer condo there (free lodging = more shopping).

We take these trips to relax; to reconnect; to recharge. We take them for the blissful experiences of sleeping in*, eating meals when we are actually hungry (as opposed to, say, because we have a free twenty minutes between driving this one to volleyball and that one dance), and PEEING IN PEACE.  Not most importantly (but totally most importantly), we take these trips to shop.

Yes, we shop for uninterrupted hours at a stretch, looking at only things for ourselves for once, and without any small person squatting in the corner of the fitting room, scrutinizing everything we try on before giving us a disdainful “Um, NO.”

This. Is. Bliss. 

Only sometimes, we shop after a few margaritas, and when we do things like this happen:

None of us were sure what it was, but it was in a darling little boutique in Palm Springs and the tightly-nip-tucked sales lady gave me champagne and I had my spray tan on at the time (you guys remember that one, right?) and I literally couldn’t resist it.

“Is it too see-through?” I asked.

“I don’t think so?” someone hiccuped.

What about the nipple issue?” I pointed out. (I POINTED OUT with my nipples.)

“They have THESE!” someone else shouted joyfully.

“Is it too short?” I wondered.

“You can wear it over jeans!” (That might have been the sales lady?)

Seemed legit.

I also bought an orange Michael Stars tube top that day that you will be seeing here before too long. (I’m keeping the nipple-hiders, though. Those things should win an award.)


*everybody but me seems to be able to do this but I’m up at five-fifteen even on vacation with a hangover WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?