A couple of weeks ago, before my own guts turned on me, my friend Christy took me to a play to celebrate my birthday (we scheduled this ON my birthday; we just had to wait until we could get tickets). The Lieutenant of Inishmore was an unforgettable play. There was swearing and blood and guns and romance and shooting and dead cats and Irishmen. It doesn’t get more memorable than that.

However.

Because I’m me, the thing that  I will most remember from the evening is — you guessed it! — a stupid picture that I found in the program.

Here’s a simple advertisement for a store specializing in plus-sized women’s clothing. Why they’ve selected clothing that looks like a tent, I’ll never know. But, it’s not too bad. Girl. Clothes. Done.

Quick question, though: If you ran a business that clothed and shod portly chicks, what would you call your store in order to attract the maximum number of patrons?

The correct answer, according to this ad is:

ABUNDANCE.

I say again: ABUNDANCE.

What!? You might as well have called it “Roundy’s Pants n’ Things.”

Are you near any women? If you are, look at one of them. You are looking at a person who is, at that moment, actively thinking about at least one part of their anatomy that they absolutely HATE. Why would any of them even walk into a store whose very name seems to say “Hey, lard ass. Why don’t you come on in and get something to hide those love handles you’re always fretting about?”

Here’s a tip, Abundance: Your store provides a decent enough service. But no one’s going near it if it makes them feel crappy about themselves.

Also, go see that play. You’re going to love it.

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