In the supermarket check-out line, a woman who, naturally, couldn't find what she wanted in her pocketbook slowed things down and I was stuck scanning the women's magazines and other tchotchke inviting a last-minute purchase.
And among the offerings was some kind of credit card thingie that boasted a skinny young woman with blond hair and a come-hither look. The largest label on the small, flat packet said, "Forever 21."
Since the item was for sale and since someone thought someone else might actually buy it, I assumed it was purveying some sort of blessing, some kind of improvement, some something-or-other that was good ... instead of the sense of curse that leaped in my mind.
As an old person, I am willing to be patient with those who are significantly younger. What the hell, I was once the same. But I am not willing to overlook the lack of substance or understanding that generally pervades (as it pervaded my) youth. "Forever 21" sounds like a voodoo curse to me. Give me wrinkles and bulges and sags and grey hair, assuming they imply a world of experience that shaped an interesting person. The curvaceous and washboard-ab-ed too often strike me as airheads.
Forever 21 ... it sounds like some ancient biblical curse... as if the laughter of life had been extinguished.
Looking it up on the web, Forever 21 seems to be a fashion store for men and women.
I refuse to post the directions. :)