Or go somewhere you VOW you will never go again and yet, you find yourself sitting in the very spot you do not want to be with a mini you on your right shoulder saying: “ I told you so.”
For example, I have a list of restaurants I refuse to eat at ever again: (I’ll spare you the names in case I got the only bad one in the bunch), and any place with bathrooms so disgusting you have to wonder what the kitchen/staff/backroom looks like make the list too.
I have been in a few stores where I am walking around with a much more annoying version of myself saying in my ear:
“Look at what you have become – you are shopping at (insert worst store ever here) as though it were Bloomingdale's.”
“How did you get to this place in your life??”
“Get out and save yourself, NOW!!!!" (My mini-me is an alarmist)
Last night I found myself in that store I vow to never return to every time I'm there.
|Not really. Thought this was funny though!|
My girls told me as I walked into the door from work, that they needed to wear their favorite team jersey to Basketball camp tomorrow, -the last day of a 3 hour for four day’s only camp.
Don’t get all excited that I have daughters who play Basketball. The cold hard facts are that I am 5’2 and the hubby is maybe 5’6 or 7, and there is more hope of raising a jockey than a Basketball player.
We are also in that group of people who have no particular passion about professional sports WHATSOEVER, so there is absolutely no pressure from us – as a matter of fact we reward the lack of organized sports interest so we don’t have to attend the games. . ...
(Just in case my best followers are freaking out right now, I love a live baseball game, I could sit and watch football in the fall with a bowl of caramel popcorn, I was a huge Brown's fan for all of my college and early adult life (but then the team was sold and I lost all interest) I can kick some butt in a March madness bracket, know enough of the terms and rules not to be considered a dumb chic, but bull riding and extreme sports are more up my alley. Soccer, Basketball, golf or consistent watching and knowing players names, wives names and who their girlfriend's are holds no interest for me.)
So camp was an inexpensive way to give the girls something to do for a week out of too many weeks of summer with nothing to do but complain about how bored they are. (In all seriousness, they love this camp and pathetically can be heard sharing the one basketball we have –(not sure where it came from) dribbling it in the basement on the carpet! Heck, if they master that technique they might be on to something!
But, you will never be able to say, that I don’t offer the opportunity or deny a request as a Mom to do pretty much anything, and off we went to find jerseys as though we have a closetful to choose from and are the biggest sports fan family out there.
HAVE YOU SEEN WHAT THEY CHARGE FOR JERSEY’S??
For three hours wear, even I have to draw the line. And how do I know that the name on the back is even still on the team or not abusing animals somewhere?
So now I find myself in the discount section of a discount store looking for a T-shirt with a sports team name on it.
Preferably one that could be worn again, so colors do matter. Unfortunately, everything had moved since the last time I was at this store. The minute I passed an employee pretending to keep herself busy with a pile of hangars I knew I was a glutton but I asked her anyway - I asked this very dazed and confused, and I use this term very loosely – "employee", where they hid the sports wear? She just gave me a blank stare and I think mumbled something, but I can't be sure she was even awake.
Eventually I found myself in a CLEARANCE/clothes that make no sense so throw them here section. Between the racks I dove. (After leaving careful instructions for the girl's not to do what I was doing.
Before this story goes as long as it actually took to locate two passable shirts, I’ll jump to the part where I chose the self check-out aisle. I chose this aisle because apparently all the other loosely termed employees must have been off enjoying their break somewhere.
Now I have been a cashier before. Granted it was in high school, but I could ring groceries with the best of them.
Self Check out Line though? Forgettabout it. This might actually be considered a sport.
Twenty minutes in and I was sweating, had threatened the lives of my children for touching the bagging area and making the scanner stop working and discarded half of my purchases that refused to be scanned. I had turned into one of those woman who looked really haggard and mean, so that you feel bad for their kids no matter how annoying they are being.
Then my card was declined. This is when the volume on the machine got louder and the people in line behind me got closer to check out the loser whose card declines at the discount store.
|Smile - it's for my blog ;)|
Clarification: my card was never really declined, the machine must have also been on break or malfunctioned. I had to turn the brightest help light in the store on and the lone cashier who could be ringing me up but instead man’s the self check out lines, b/c even an ex- cashier can’t make them work right, came over and got my card to work. AFTER I was instructed to rub it on my shirt.
I think the machine is a man, and enjoys seeing women rub their credit cards on themselves.
My girls were in full giggle mode at this point - were no longer of any help to me, and had gone well beyond the point of reason. I heard them hysterically laughing at my inability to operate the machine, and my alarming performance of rubbing a credit card on my body. I heard them telling each other that this was one job they knew they would not ever want to do.
I'm telling you right now - I will never, not ever, go in the self check out aisle again.
I really hope those blessed shirts they wore for 3 lousy hours today were worth it to them.
|Yes, it does look like the cat might be about to start a good cleaning.|