Macy's and I are different. I know this. Macy's sells socks, for one. Also, it can't die. It shouldn't matter but I struggle to find value in myself if I can't manage to outlive a department store. Don't get me wrong, I like Macy's. Macy's offers a lot of bang for your buck. But so do I. I can give hugs. I can kiss, laugh, cry, sing, hope, dream, rock babies to sleep, and help people cross the street. That's a lot of things. Okay, Macy's does have an astounding fragrance selection. But there is no amount of discount perfume that can live up to my ability to love. My love is a renewable resource. When I'm in love everything smells perfect anyway. True, I can't get you discounts on Calvin Klein, Tommy Hilfiger, or Coach. But I have hands for you to hold when life gets you down with thumbs to encourage you from across the room. I know this is no use. I know that Macy's will survive the apocalypse and after the death of memory Macy's will be there, monumental. But I'd feel better if, when I die, and people attend the only Me Day Parade there will ever be, I will at least be remembered more fondly than Macy's, and if, on that day, someone will say I'd trade an eternity of Macy's for one more day with him. That might make it all right.


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