I tweeted this yesterday, but if you’re not properly stalking me (hiya, David Conrad!), then you may have missed it.
This is a price tag I found on an old storage bin in my basement when I was putting away Christmas decorations last night:
Hills is where my mother bought most of our school clothes right up until graduation from high school. Hills is where the five of us used to follow her from rack to rack as she selected hundreds of dollars of jeans we would peg and sweaters so bright we would blind dogs. We would moan and groan and whine and OMG WE HAVE BEEN HERE FOR AN HOUR AND MY JELLY SHOES ARE KILLING ME AND MY BANANA CLIP JUST FELL OUT, and we would try to sit anywhere we could find a place for our bums even if that meant ducking into a circular clothes rack to sit on the wheels.
Hills is where I also recall her putting our winter coats on layaway each year.
I’m going to blow your minds. Hills is NOT where I ever got popcorn or hotdogs. So many people have that memory, but I don’t. Maybe my mother didn’t allow us to purchase those things. Maybe she did and I’ve blocked it out. I’m sure my sisters will chime in here and set me straight either way.
One thing is for sure though: Hills is where the toys are.
I’m going to sell that price tag on eBay for $30,000. Or maybe I can get my butt on Antiques Roadshow.
“Your Hills Department Store price tag is worth … ONE MILLION DOLLARS.”