I recently bought a trench coat from Bebe.com. Online it was a gorgeous, pearlescent turquoise, but in person it was a matte green. It looked like the uniform of a policeman in the Emerald City.

I elected to return it to the downtown store rather than paying shipping fees to return it by mail. According to the policy, online orders can be returned to a store within 14 days of receiving the item, and I was well inside my limit.

When I got there, the guy behind the counter said “Well, you’re one day past the return deadline, but I’ll ring you up.”

Why did this bother me? He was letting me return the thing anyway. I guess it was the condescending, “Stupid woman, can’t even read a calendar” implications. So where normally I would have just smiled and thanked him, this time I said, “No, I’m not.”

“Well, you’re supposed to return it within 14 days of it being shipped,” he said.

“Nope,” I said, “your policy on the website and the receipt says within 14 days of receiving the item. That’s why I printed my UPS confirmation for you, see? I got it three days ago.”

“Well, who knows,” he said. Then he refunded my shipping fees, which he didn’t have to do, though whether this was accidental or motivated by fear I could not say.

But I got home and re-checked that policy. Receipt of the item, jerkface, like I said. And I’ll tell you what else: you’ve got a special holiday policy where any item ordered after November 1 doesn’t have to be returned until January 8, so suck on that.

Honestly, I usually have all kinds of compassion for people in retail. Anyone being rude or incompetent has usually just had a really long day, and a little kindness from a customer can quickly turn them around. But this guy didn’t seem tired or unhappy, he just seemed smug.

Or possibly I am just giving up some of my compassion, because part of being in my thirties (I’ve decided) is going to be standing up for myself, whether it’s arguing a return policy, taking up my allotted amount of space on the subway (instead of cringing away from whatever oblivious guy is trying to take up one and a half seats), or, you know, ranting a lot on my blog. (I’m not in my thirties yet, but I’m practicing.)

Man, I’m all hyped up now. I want to go kick that guy around some more. But instead I think I will go spend the refunded shipping money he so kindly gave me on stocking stuffers at a store where people are nice to me.

I’ve always loved the story of Scheherazade, who told stories to save her own life. (I guess every writer loves this story.) So I was delighted when Michele agreed to go see The Arabian Nights at the Berkeley Rep with me last night.

Part of my fascination with these stories is the florid way the characters speak, like in the Western fairy tale about the girl who dropped diamonds and roses from her lips when she spoke. Flowers and flattery.

– O King of Time, what is the purpose of life?

– To cultivate enthusiasm.

I don’t know why I was so surprised that the play conformed to this linguistic style. It was like watching Shakespeare, where the language is initially a barrier until you’re drawn into it by the actors and suddenly you understand it almost effortlessly. So…that was cool.

Like the stories, the play also includes plenty of singing and dancing. I suppose this is naive of me, but I was impressed that they could find so many actors who could act, sing and dance. (I’m thinking of Star Trek TNG, which hired countless guest stars, almost none of whom could act at all. How are there so many great actors to be found for Berkeley Rep and almost none for a nationally aired TV show?)

The play, like the stories, is set in a stylized version of Arabia — in the same way that Western fairy tales deal with an imaginary West full of spells and witches — but it deals with real issues too. It particularly addresses the sad and merry gender war, and how women fight it in a society where they have very little public power: through desire, through infidelity, through virtue, and through eloquence, cleverness and wit. By the end, Scheherazade has drawn a picture of a world where the balance of power is not so unequal as it first appeared.

And this is why the end of her own story has always felt so unsatisfying to me. By the end of her thousand and one nights, she’s won the heart of the king and she elects to stay with him as his wife. But why? I’ve never understood it. Before he married Scheherazade, the man has been systematically marrying, deflowering and murdering every virgin in the country until there are literally none left but the daughters of his most trusted advisor. He spends most of his nights with Scheherazade threatening to slit her throat. He is clearly a nutcase, and when he offers her freedom, she should take it. The women in her stories would.

Only once have I read a satisfying end to the tale, in a parody of it written by Craig Shaw Gardner (The Last Arabian Night). As I recall it, at the end, Scheherazade realizes that the handsome guard outside her bedchamber bears a striking resemblance to the king. After she has won the king’s heart and trust with her stories, she and the guard get together and bump him off, then live happily ever after with the guard posing as his master. As an added bonus, the guard is so grateful to Scheherazade for raising his status, he’s pretty much under her thumb for life and she’s in charge. Sounds right to me.

Tickets to this might make a good Christmas present for someone on your list. It’s especially worth it because the theater is small and comfortable. Michele and I didn’t even have the most expensive seats, yet we found ourselves second-row center. Plus, way more legroom than A.C.T. Great play, great price; but hurry, because performances are selling out.

In my recent fashion explorations, I’ve noticed something: you can wear almost anything if you are willing to spend way too much money on it. Designer labels have all kinds of awesomeness that I would totally wear, but if I spent that much money on one item of clothing I would have to stab myself. I have heard Christine describe this sensation very well: these are items where, if you lose them, you die a little inside because of how much money is sitting back on that subway seat.

But my trouble is this: I often find similar things for like $20 at places like Forever 21 or even less at thrift stores. To me, a sequined mini is a sequined mini, never mind how much it cost, but I think fashionable people often see differences invisible to me.

Take, for example, this $226 Vera Wang thing which I would look so great in I bet:

So why can’t I buy this sequined mini from Forever 21 for $17.80, throw a gray sweater over it and call it fashion?

Or, in this corner, an Alice + Olivia dress (can’t find it for sale, but similar dresses from this brand seem to hover around $400):

Versus this dress, again from Forever 21, for $27.80:

I know part of it is that I don’t like stuff until it’s been around and I’ve seen it on everyone else, because then I feel like I can wear it and still blend in, which is my most favorite thing to do. And last year’s fashion is today’s Forever 21 rack. So maybe the reason you’re not supposed to buy the cheap version is that it’s already out of date. Is that the only reason? Or am I missing something? Should I even be thinking about all this when I need to go find a good recipe for crescent rolls?