I have a personal relationship with Bloomingdales. As a little girl, I shopped there with my mother - combing the sales racks, looking for special occasion garments, greeting our favorite saleswomen and of course eating lunch or an afternoon coffee in the restaurant - always sharing a slice of something insanely delicious.
We both grew, and eventually shifted roles; I started treating, held her hand as we browsed, and eventually, as she began to tire easily, we skipped the shopping and went straight for the restaurant.
I became a mother and began making my own Bloomingdales memories with my daughters and granddaughters. But, unlike my mother, my grandchildren are serious shoppers. As a result, my status with Bloomingdales has risen - from browser, to loyalist, to their most premium membership status - the Black Card member. As a matter of fact, on my birthday, they send me gifts I hurriedly hide from view. God forbid my husband sees I am one of their best customers - I doubt he'd care about the nostalgia.
The pandemic changed everything. Two months ago, I had my first credit balance at Bloomingdales - ever. I laughed so hard, my husband came out of his man-cave to see what was so funny. He didn’t get it.
Over the last month, I felt compelled to correct the balance - after all, aren’t we supposed to be supporting our local businesses? I must need something! New pajamas? Sweatpants? Underwear? There's not much I need right now - I’m barely changing my clothes.
Eventually, I settled on pajamas and a cozy wrap around sweater to wear while reading. It got me out of the credit balance and onto firmer ground. I feel better now they know I’m still alive and looking out for them. I’m anticipating making a personal appearance soon in their beautiful store and of course, stopping for my favorite frozen yogurt.
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