When thinking about Neiman Marcus, a few things come to mind -- tanorexic MILFs, elderly women dripping in diamonds, and that gorgeous, cherry-colored Marc Jacobs bag that I would sell my soul for. Recently, a friend suggested that I join her for a bite to eat at the famed department store's café, The Little Mermaid Bar, a place where the word lunch is used exclusively as a verb. For some reason, the idea of a midday meal at Neiman Marcus, aside from being a bizarre choice, made me uncomfortable.
Some will argue that my discomfort is due to my lack of class, pedigree, or couth -- all of which is true but beside the point. After verifying that the café served beer and wine, I agreed to go, preparing myself for a pretentious wait staff, uptight atmosphere, and bland, over-priced food. What I found when I arrived was startling.