Sweat shops, though, have really got to go. I'm not talking about factories employing youngsters in the third world, but rather most every store in the mall.
Anyone who's been lured in by those leggy plastic figures swathed in the latest snazzy getup will know exactly what I mean.
As the grinning salesperson shoves you into a cubicle with a heap of clothes "you have to try - they're the cutest," it starts.
At first you think the tiny beads of sweat on your forehead just reflect a flash of exhilaration from finding that perfect tank top underneath the heaps of gold macram
