Dear Generic Suburban White Man who was in the Kroger Parking lot,
Yes, that was me who screamed “FUCK!” in a tone that can only be described as warring tomcats. I appreciate your look of judgment at my choice of language, which is why I gave you the little wave with my unburned hand and the polite, “sorry!”
You see, in my never-ending quest to not have unnecessary trash to get rid of, I said no to the little green stopper at the Kroger Starbucks. Thus, when I hit a bump in the parking lot while holding on to my beloved flat white and my cart, the coffee when flying out of that tiny drinking whole and all over my even more beloved Kate Spade Purse.
And while my “sorry” and wave may have meant I wouldn’t yell fuck again, I did when I spilled the coffee two more times on my way to the car. It’s a good thing you had already driven away when I was attempting to open my car door with coffee all over my hand and purse. When I hit the coffee cup against the door, not on purpose, it spilled some more down the interior of the door, at which point I literally growled, “Fuck! How many fucking times am I going to spill this fucking coffee?”
After that, I went digging in my console for anything to soak up coffee. You see, I’m an incredibly neat person and I don’t hoard napkins or Kleenex in my car. Luckily, I found a Norwex mitten duster and a pair of yarn gloves, along with some hand sanitizer. I managed to clean the car door and purse. I licked off the top of the lid to get the large amount of coffee that had gathered there.
When I finally unloaded my cart and got in my car, I thought three things. One, I will always ask for that frigging stopper. Two, it’s a good thing I went to Pam’s Norwex party four years ago. Three, I really need to just let the husband do the shopping. (Yes, someone married this rude woman.) Something awkward always happens to me at Kroger.
I like to think of myself as young and with the times. I even tell myself and most of the time others that I am 28, just to keep a young mindset. I don’t actually believe that I’m 28, but it sounds better than 42. I love techy toys, and keeping up on all things science and technology. I really enjoy a good $5 cup of Starbucks. I have always thought of myself as modern, but recently I have discovered that even though I have an iPhone 5S and a VW with Bluetooth, I am really just an old-fashioned hermit. Here’s why:
I only have one baby daddy. It’s true. My son’s father is my ex-husband. We were married for two years before I got pregnant. I’ve only been divorced once. In my defense, I am on my second marriage, which makes me somewhat “modern.”
I don’t like low-rise jeans. Give me a good pair of mom jeans that covers my carb-induced fat roll any day.
I like sleeves. I had a hard time finding a wedding gown because everything is sleeveless and open. I think beautiful sleeves can really add a lot more to a dress than someone’s skin hanging out.
I think it’s good for kids to have free time after school and in the summer. They will have plenty of time to be super busy and stressed out; it’s called adulthood. They don’t need to be scarfing down a happy meal in the car on their way from soccer to judo.
I don’t care if the bucket of soda is only a dollar more. I don’t want it. I want something smaller than the huge cup you call a small. No, I also don’t want to super size.
I don’t mind cooking dinner for my family, and I love it that we eat together at the kitchen table almost every night.
Most of the time when people take a sick day and end up at the mall, it’s because they’re faking the sick part. This was not the case on Monday. My husband and I were both up sick all night Sunday night and we can only narrow it down to the spinach salad we shared at Pearl, a new restaurant in town. Stink eye to you, Pearl.
When the alarm went off, neither one of us were in any shape to work, or even think. So, we went to our computers to email our bosses. You know I wasn’t feeling well because I work from home and I was using a sick day. So, I attempted to turn on my TWO MONTH OLD MAC, and it clicked at me.
I thought I was hearing things because I have tinnitus and the hearing of an 80 year old, but my husband said, “What is that noise?” That’s when I got scared. The noise was real, and it was coming from my precious Mackenzie. Yes, I name everything.
So, I emailed my boss from my iPad and went back to bed, while the husband made a Genius Bar appointment for later. He had already tried calling the customer service line at Best Buy, where he bought the computer, my Christmas present. Best Buy told him that since we did not buy their extended warranty they could do nothing for us.
We both went back to sleep and rolled out of bed at noon, like rock stars, or just middle-aged people with abdominal cramps. We carefully, and slowly, ate some toast with plain tea. Then, we ventured off to the last place we both wanted to go, the mall. On the way there, I told my husband to check the Von Maur bathroom if I disappeared from the Apple store. No matter where you live, if you have a Von Maur in your mall, that bathroom is like a slice of septic heaven.
I managed to avoid running to Von Maur. I’m proud of myself for this. I waited in Apple with my husband for our Genius, and he really was and is a genius. I say this because he fixed my computer for free. Bobby, our Apple person, tested Mackenzie and found that her hard drive was bad. He had some time open RIGHT THEN, and he was able to fix her within an hour. Bobby, you rock, and I hope I am spelling your name correctly. If you are an ie Bobby, I apologize.
We had some time to kill, so we did what all older people do and walked the mall. We ended up walking in to Lush Cosmetics just because the colors were pretty and it was a good distraction from our rumbly stomachs.
If you read this blog often, or ever, you know that I HATE talking to people I don’t know, and I REALLY hate talking to salespeople. Andrea and the gals at Lush were lovely. I ended up buying some soap, a mask that is so natural it needs to be refrigerated, and a “Charity Pot” of a lotion. Lush does not test on animals and they support a number of charities. Their prices aren’t bad either. Everyone was so helpful at Lush, and I wish I remembered all of their names, but I’m always bad at that. I’m surprised my husband didn’t get their names as he remembers EVERYONE’S name. He is the reason we asked for “Bobby” when we went to pick up Mackenzie. If it had been up to me, we would have been asking for “that guy with the sleeve tattoos and the long beard.” So, you know, like most of the guys who work at Apple.
After Lush, we got a couple of decaf coffees at Starbucks and sat in the comfy leather chairs and talked about how awesome Apple and Lush were. And how we would never buy anything from Best Buy ever again, or eat at Pearl again.
So, though it wasn’t the best day ever, I did learn some valuable lessons on Monday.
If you are tattooed to high heaven, and you are having trouble getting a job, Apple, Lush, or Starbucks are the places for you. Please note that my son has stretched ears and has not been able to find a job. This is why I notice where the tattooed and pierced could work. I am not tattooed, and I do not judge people who are.
Do not buy Apple Products, or anything really, at Best Buy. First of all, they never have anything in stock, and second of all, they would not do a simple exchange in this situation. If they had, I MAY be writing good things about them. You lose, Best Buy.
That’s what my step-dad, originally from East Boston, used to say whenever someone called him “dressed-up.” “Fahmahs” is Bonstonese for farmers. When he went out to dinner, he put on khakis and a good button-up shirt, sometimes pink. I guess this is dressed-up for Florida. I don’t think I ever saw the man in jeans, other than denim shorts (“shots”) when he was painting or gardening.
My step-dad has been dead for 13 years now, but his sayings and philosophies still live in my brain. I swear I could hear him comment on “dungahrees” when I was at the mall a few weeks ago. I was sitting on a bench, sipping some kind of liquid candy bar from Starbucks, and waiting for my son to finish a training session at the Apple store. I had already checked FaceBook on my phone and caught up on Words With Friends, so I just decided to people watch, or really denim watch.
EVERYONE was wearing jeans. There were people wearing jeans with boots, heals, loafers, and sneakers. They paired their denim with nice shirts, t-shirts, sweatshirts, leather jackets, jeweled belts, and sometimes big sparkly necklaces. There was dark denim, faded denim, holey denim, tight jeans, loose jeans, skinny jeans, and even pajama jeans, for those who have given up.
I know I’m starting to sound like Bubba talking about shrimp, but people seem to have more ways to wear jeans than he had ways to prepare shrimp. I guess it strikes me as odd because I don’t understand why. As a non-jean person, I have asked people why they love jeans so much, and I have gotten the same answer – comfort.
Um, really? Maybe I am spoiled from 8 years of working from home, but when I think comfort I don’t think denim. I think flannel pajamas. Though, unlike many Wal-Mart shoppers, I don’t wear them in public. Leggings and big sweaters are a close second, and acceptable in public, followed by long skirts. Even dress pants are more comfortable than jeans. Denim, unless it is pajama “denim,” is stiff and thick, not really comfy. It’s durable. That’s why “fahmahs” wear it. They need something tough because they work hard. Walking the mall is not hard work.