Schlepping around in New York a couple of months ago, I spotted this conglomerate of maternity stores and made the boys stop so that I could take a picture. I can't help but think that this area is ineptly named: it should be called "Arrival Maternity," because the merchandise in that store is for women who are mothers, even if their kid is still in utero. No, Destination Maternity is where I live; I would have no business shopping at Arrival Maternity at this point. I could definitely shop at Destination Maternity, though. An appropriately-stocked Destination Maternity should have stuff like Monica and Rachel gave Phoebe in that depressing episode of Friends: stuff pregnant ladies can't use, like leather pants and tequila. Of course, if that's all the store stocked, I still couldn't go there, because I don't drink, and I'm pretty sure if I ever wore leather pants the Fashion Police would jail me in a heartbeat. So we'd have other things, too, like sushi, deli meat, hot dogs, and unpasteurized cheeses. Oh, and a tattoo parlor in the back. And an x-ray machine that you can use free of charge. It doesn't sound like a classy place, I know, but it's the one place I can go and know that I'm not in jeopardy of seeing a plethora of blooming bellies. (Have you been to ikea lately? It's like a Pregnant Lady Convention!) So, if you need me, you know where to find me. I can't wait to be kicked out of the store.
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