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| - The Dirt Mall. Literally, figuratively, epically, cosmically dirty. Whatever other adverbs you want to throw in there, it's dirty in those ways, too. You know it, I know it, we all know it.
If your idea of heaven is a teen mom wearing hotpants chasing a snot-covered toddler while carrying a baby in a grubby onesie and simultaneously eating a churro, the Arizona Mills is your promised land. If you like being catcalled by cell phone salesmen who call you "girl" and chase you down the aisle, honey you'll be as happy as a pig in shit. And if you want to take your Arizona Mills catch of the day to a late-night movie featuring a soundtrack performed live by a two-year-old up way past her bedtime, fuck, the Mills has that, too. In IMAX form, no less.
In short: It's a fucking disaster in every possible way.
Thing is, I still fucking love it. Designer jeans marked down to $99, plus a seemingly constant extra-30%-off-sale? Thanks, Off Saks Fifth Avenue! B. Makowsky handbag at less than half the retail price? Ah, that's the Marshall's I know and love. Kenneth Cole shoes for $29.99, designer party dresses for $50 and a lovely luggage set that I get complimented on every time I travel for $150.
Seriously, if I'm wearing something with a fancy-pants designer label, it's probably either from the Mills or this crazy fucking suburban luxury outlet mall outside Austin. Either way, I can assure you I paid less than half the retail price for it.
So just relax, have a drink, and head to the Mills. Return home with your bounty. Then take a shower.
No, seriously, take a shower. That place is fucking dirty.
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