you can’t even steal right.

When you are an 11-year-old girl and you want to be popular you’re going to have to shop lift at some point. I had a friend who was a total badass and we’d hang out with her older sister and her cool friends and sit in a circle in her room and sniff nail polish remover to see if we could get high and then when it didn’t work we’d pretend we were.

One afternoon, her mom drove us to the mall without shoes on. My friend had her eyes on this short camouflage jean skirt from The Deb. She had no problem ripping off the tags and shoving that tiny piece of fabric into her Bath And Body Works bag. I knew I had to take something too or she’d make fun of me. It’d been hours since our huffing adventure and it was due time I proved myself worthy of her time again. I walked into Claire’s, the store with the jewelry that makes your fingers green, and “shopped” around. I figured if I took something really small I might be able to get away with it. I was afraid of this security room I’d heard about that they keep deep in the guts of the mall to interrogate shoplifters, and I knew anything bigger than a ring or a pair of earrings would easily land me there. Fortunately, there was a ring lying on a table without tags. It looks like someone had the same fate for it as I, only they pussied out before it could drop into their pockets. I held it tight in my right hand and booked it out of there as discreetly as I could. I was cool again. Not as cool as the girls with new camo skirts but cool nonetheless.

I felt like shit though. That night, I couldn’t sleep. The next morning I begged my mom to take me to the mall. She took me and we went back to Claire’s. I dropped that ring right where I found it, hoping to absolve my guilt. It worked, but I felt like an ass because I couldn’t even steal right.

— 22 y/o female from Philly, PA

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