you dont care how im doing

i seriously needed a vacation. i know this not because the bags under my eyes are expanding in 3 dimensions (oh what they would look like if i were an avatar...horror movie level of scariness). i know because on my way to my vacation out of nyc i was the epitome of the bitchy new yorker that has to get the fuck out of nyc. i screamed at my cab driver because i clearly know the traffic patterns better than someone who spends the entire life in a car, jumped out of said cab because man was pissing me off because wtf would he take 31st st to penn station, and then while on foot continued to run people's (read: peoples including small children, elderly) feet over with my suitcase. i know i live in nyc, shopping mecca of the world, but honestly, i find it difficult to shop there. im a mall girl after all. you can take the girl out of natick, but you can't take the natick mall out of the girl. or collection. and dammit, i love the cheesecake factory. best chain restaurant ever. after a good mall shop, all you want is an encyclopedia of food, of which i always choose the same damn dish. i hate reading anyways. now that is a good day. so when i go visit my parents in indiana, we go to the mall. i have a limit though. its not necessarily a time limit. my limit is more on the number of times i can hear a salesperson ask me how im doing. i can only snarkily answer 'fine how are you' so many times before i can no longer disguise my rage. you dont care how i am. and i sure as hell dont care about you, but it sounds insensitive not to return the question. i know shopping trip is over when im more likely to walk out of the store with the throat of the salesperson that asked me how i was doing than with the sweater i needed. i cant wait to go back to manhattan. where no one gives a fuck how im doing.