I hate you Ross. Why must you make me enter your doors, looking for one stinkin' pair of shoes for this evening's festivities, and make me leave your doors spending $65 after having purchased the following:
The shoes for this evening (at least I got what I came for. that usually doesn't happen).
Grey Boots. Love them.
A Yellow Pitcher.
A cookie sheet.
A serving platter.
A sweater.
Why?
I also, love you, Ross. I love you for having all of these things at such affordable prices all under one roof, even if you make me feel like I'm a criminal the moment I walk in the door, with the beacon-equipped shopping cart and all.
love/hate.
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