A Poignant Plea For Retail

image uploaded by wine me up on Flickr

Guest post by Anna Cranage Conathan

Business investors of Capitol Hill, it’s time for us to have a chat. A chat wherein I appeal to your senses of reason, compassion and humanity, and I’m gonna give it to you straight, right between the eyes:

I am overweight.

I used to be thin. No, not twiggy, but “appealingly-sized” let’s call it. Now I am 20-plus pounds less appealing, by my own estimation. (And my mother’s. Thanks, Mom.) My Hill friends all say, “don’t worry, you had a baby!” And they’re sweet to say so but, while they are not wrong, my son was born three years ago and he can write his own name. So, by calling it “baby weight,” I would be lying to myself and to you, so let’s just go ahead and call it fat, okay?

“Why am I sharing this with you?” you may be wondering.

While I know opening a new, chic restaurant on the Hill seems like a slam dunk idea, I urge you to consider investing in Hill retail. Why?

Because it would be virtually impossible for me to gain weight shopping.

I love stepping out in my neighborhood, particularly since the nice weather is here and Hillies are feeling the socialness of spring. But nine times out of ten, a jaunt into the ‘hood means calories in, not calories out. This is why I like to visit the Groovies and the Monkeys and the Home Bodies and – sometimes, when I’m desperate – Radio Shack.

You heard me. Radio Shack.

Oh that there were a stylish boutique for Hill babes of a certain age who accept they will never be “Forever 21” but are not yet ready to go gently into the “chic pajama” look of Chico’s.

I long for a store that offers cute tops and stylish (but containing) jeans as well as several styles of “That Dress,” (you know, the one that you always get compliments on), as well as adorable, walkable shoes that don’t aesthetically announce your developing bunion issues or make you feel like you’ve been to the foot-binder, and maybe some fab, durable purses that are not a financial conflict with the education of your offspring. And I’m just spitballing here! Wanna know more? Take me for drinks and let me really wow you!

See! Just like that, I’m setting myself up for the consumption of more calories.

Perhaps we can meet somewhere safe to discuss the retail future of Capitol Hill.

Peregrine? No, wait. They have Buzz cupcakes.

Let’s try… the restroom at Eastern Market! Wait, no. Too close to Market Lunch. Wait, I’ve got it!

The William H. Rumsey Aquatic Center! All water, no food and the natural appetite suppressant of putting on a bathing suit for the first time in ten months. I think it’s a win. I plan on having all playdates, ladies’ night and date nights at Rumsey Pool from now until I meet my personal goal of “20 for 20” – twenty pounds off before my 20^th reunion. In August.

Hey, a girl can dream.

So far through the steely combination of vanity and strength of purpose I have managed to steer clear of the gastronomic ecstasy located so near to my home. It is an achievement that I have NOT said, “Hello, cupcake!” and a sheer act of will has kept me from devouring meringues & macaroons in “the lobby” who claim to be lobbying for my sweet tooth. Who, I’d like to know, is lobbying for my muffin top?

And now, as if being tested by the universe itself, gelato is coming. Do you know what this means? It means when I am feeling low, I can pretend I am back in Florence, where my husband and I went our last pre-baby vacation.

Wait… Our last vacation. Full stop.

I can browse in the Mercato Centrale (Eastern Market) then dine at an authentic ristorante (Aqua Al 2) followed by a casual stroll down the rustic brick paved street to the local gelateria (Pitango Gelato) for traditional Italian ice cream.

Our own Little Italy, right here on Capitol Hill.

Then, of course, I step onto the piazza by the Metro, where I am confronted by the harsh reality of… Radio Shack.

Little Italy aside, the biggest pitfall, I feel, is that Hill food purveyors have made “sometimes food” available ALL THE TIME!

Carnivals are for “carnies.” Get your cotton candy and caramel apples without the freak show.

It’s a long ride to The Vacationland State. Have an authentic Maine lobster roll while waiting for the bus!

Don’t lose your Nathan’s Famous on the Cyclone, enjoy your Coney Island classic dog without Dramamine, right here in DC.

I have demonstrated that I am a strong woman. I can walk away from these temptations, even if they are reminiscent of the vacations of my youth.

But walking away doesn’t help. Because there are trucks! Almost fifty food trucks are currently serving the DC area, and I am told more are coming for me!

Ahem.

I mean, coming to the area.

Okay, I’ll admit it. I think they’re following me. Not unlike the Visa credit card – they are everywhere I want to be! And then, if they go away for a while, play hard to get, I kind of… oh, I don’t know… umm… stalk them. Not on foot, you understand. Too exhausting. No, I just check out the real time automated food truck tracker on foodtruckfiesta.com.

I could start using the tracker as a defensive tool. But then I think of whoopee pies. And sharing one on the chairlift with John Walters in fourth grade, and I get all fuzzy on the inside. Which, I suppose is how you get all flabby on the outside.

I must think of John Walters, but not on that chairlift. No! I will think of him standing near the bar at our reunion when he turns to see me make my grand entrance into the Mt. Cranmore base lodge and bingo hall. Do I want him to crush his PBR can in desire or snarf his beer through his nose when he blanches at my aged and increased appearance.

Business investors of Capitol Hill, I think you know the answer.

Enough with the food.

I need a hot, mind-numbing, flattering, clings-in-the-right-place, hangs-in-the-right-place, plunges-in-the-right-place, dress for my reunion.

The Dress.

I’m looking to you for help. We have less than three months.

Let’s get the retail party started up in here.