Vicarious Love through Playpen and Washers
First I'd like to congratulate one of my bestest friends, I'm still squealing. She & her wonderful husband are expecting. I'm not sure why she let me rant for two hours about stupid non-life-changing stuff before yelling "Stop. Can I share now?"
But as usual I have to make this about me. You guys so owe me! Remember 9 years ago yall had a fight. What was my advice? "All men are asses but he's a lesser degree of ass plus he's way cute." And now your gonna have the world's most beautiful baby. Because as racist as it sounds when a Vietnamese chick marries a white guy, 99% of the time the baby is unbelievably gorgeous. A few of us know what happens to the one percent. But it's ok because I have a great personality.
So after she tells me we decide to walk around a baby store and I just go nuts. I want to buy this baby everything. First for my male readers, don't warn Bobby. I like being a hockey mom. I am so far past my own wanting a newborn I'm questioning my womanhood… but I did absolutely fall in love with the cutest playpen. And Bobby would much rather I bought it for you then for myself… So that'll be my first purchase after my next seminar… I don't care if the kid's 7. the kid can use it has a laundry hamper damnit.
So I'm still on a natural high from this and I get a email from another of my closest friends and she had an embarrassing confession. As Murphy Law would have it, her washer broke on Mothers Day and they had to buy a new one so that was her "Mother's Day" gift. And wasn't she a freak for liking it…
Yup. What a freak. Crazy freak. I don't care... who wants details about a washer? but I felt I needed to carry on the conversation, just to be polite. Because if anything I am polite. Did she buy the set? Cool. I mean whatever… its not like Bobby and I got in a fight whether or not we could buy a dryer first without buying his pretty silvery washermate at the same time. …(but its not as esthetically pleasing you dork…)
Was it the front loading washer thast washes 16 pair of jeans? And the dryer that dries a full load in 43 minutes… the one at Lowes. Did she buy the pedal stools? They look prettier up high and the storage look great…
Yup. She's a crazy… crazy girl…
Do you think it was wrong not to tell her I was asked to leave Lowes a few days ago for drooling over a dryer? and i might have sorta asked if like I could book some alone time with her new appliances? What? If a washer does 16 pairs of jeans I could probably do a week's worth of laundry Plus dunk Nicholas in one load…
posted by clarified @ 11:27 AM
1 Comments:
Hey, Claire. I read this post twice and the only thing I keep remembering is how you were asked to leave Loews.
There is something in the air there that brings out the worst in people. Once, I was looking for soap and papertowel dispensers and couldn't find either. So I quite politely asked the first employee I found, "Do you guys carry commercial grade soap dispensers?" To which she replied (puzzled), "What commercial?" I explained that they were the kind one might find being used in a business as opposed to a private residence. Something about this explaination seemed to confound her more and she put her hand up and said, "We aren't eeeeeven gonna go THERE. . . ." I'm still trying to figure out why she was so offended by soap dispensers. Maybe she prefers bars.
Another time I was shopping there and realized I needed a basket. Instead of going all the way to the front I took what looked like an abandoned one. Halfway down the aisle, the rightful owner yelled that that was his basket and gave me a look that made me feel two inches tall AND subhuman. How was I supposed to know?!? Here is an empty basket and you are nowhere near it. I've never received such an ugly look from another person. Now that I think about it, I was carrying around a box almost as tall as I was. He could have chosen to be a gentelman, but thats another post. . . .
Start going to Home Depot. They hire college grads and Olympic athletes in training, plus fine people like me shop there.
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