Do you guys remember, back in
grade school, when these book sales used to pop up right around Mother’s Day
and Christmas (never father’s day, our poor dad’s). They used to sell all sorts of ‘goodies’ and
I recall hoarding money just so I could purchase ‘gifts’ for my family. And when the day came, we (or at least I)
would wait anxiously until the teacher made us stand in single file and march
us into one of the classrooms that had been converted into a mini book store
and let us loose for approximately 15 minutes.
Back then 15 minutes was a lot.
This was where, funny enough, I
picked up my first ‘romance’ novel. It
wasn’t like the Harlequin soft porn, just the cheesy tween ones. And I
suppose since there wasn’t a whole hell lot of romancing in my life anyway, I
figure living vicariously through the characters would have to do. I admit that this wasn’t necessarily a good
thing. Not because I was reading a
stupid romance but rather it set up equally dumb expectations in my head as to
how love should be, what should happen ultimately. The geek always got the popular joke and all
was right in the world.
Um…not so much.
Anyhow, I would wander around and
before long would be forking money over for silly trinkets that I was sure
would top all possible gifts I had purchased for my parents in the past. My mother of course always fawned over every
single thing I (nervously) handed her, gushing appropriately and giving me big
hugs and kisses. My dad was a bit less
effusive in his appreciation. He would
smile warmly, pat me on the head, give me a hug and return to his normally
scheduled program (which was music classes).
I knew he loved that crap since he would keep it close to where he
sat. Phew, the differences between moms
and dads, gotta love them.
Well anyhow, since slipping into
adult-hood (never an easy transition) I’ve never seen these sorts of sales. Not until I started in the league of drones
that haul their butts to a building every day in order to get paid while almost
kicking and screaming (not everyone but most of us). Once again these roving book sales/jewelry
stores began to pop up in the lobbies of the firms I’ve worked in. And amazingly enough, they still boast a lot
of crappola that one convinces oneself one needs…like recipe, DIY and gardening
books as well as random do-dads and gee-gaws.
The reemergence of my childhood
self in the face of this is a given. The
minute I see the books, as well as nonsensical laden tables of random items, I’m
toast. This is what happened to me
today. I was so hopeful too that I would
find nothing. I prayed internally that some
part of my brain had matured enough to the point where I could give everything
a cursory look and simply flounce away feeling quite pleased with me. Instead I escaped with putting a bit of a
dent on my credit card. Oh damn you inability-to-walk-away-from-a-good-sale-and-thus-creating-a-greater-financial-burden-upon-myself,
damn you!
The little white haired woman
behind the counter was chattering on with me during the transaction and all the
while I was thinking to myself, ‘you are the representative of the Devil.’ Not a very charitable thought but I know my
husband wouldn’t disagree.
Kind of makes you wonder
though: when do we kick the bad habits
of childhood?
In my defense, I didn’t really get
anything for me. One item was for my
mommy (of course, this is basic instinct in its best form), two things for my friend’s
daughter who I promised would get a birthday gift and a keychain speaker for me
to connect to my iPhone.
The really best thing about this
sale? It’s a one day event and they won’t
return till the fall. Thank the lord.
On a side note, when I had asked
the elderly lady when they would be returning and she informed me in the fall
since this was the ‘spring’ show, I couldn’t help but glance out the front
lobby window at the sidewalk heavy with snow.
She did the same, we looked back at each other, shrugged and she said ‘well,
okay sort of spring…it’ll be officially so on Thursday.’ *Total mental crickets* Legit, I was
surprised at this info and had to do a slight mental ‘wtf’.
Relax, I won’t launch into one of
my famous (or so at least I like to believe) weather related diatribes. I refuse to since I’m just about that sick of
going on and on about snow. (Did you
know it snowed Sunday night? Like a lot,
like as in 8 inches, like as in enough to have a day of telecommuting, like as
in enough that schools were closed and mothers around these parts were
screaming out their frustrations in unison into aprons while baking chocolate
chip cookies for their over-active children in order to keep them quiet while
subsequently sugaring them up even more.)
Anyhoo folks, it’s Tuesday and I
have music class tonight. I haven’t had
class for almost a month and half. My
dad (my Ustad, which is the same as Guru or Pundit) asked me while he was still
‘back home’ (which basically refers to the mother land) whether I had
practiced. I hemmed and hawed but even
through that distance and via FaceTime, Dad leveled a look on me with one brow
slightly arched (okay and why the hell can the whole world do this but I
physically cannot make it happen?!?!) that clearly said ‘tell me the truth, oh sweet
child of mine’ (bet I got that song stuck in your head now…heh). So I did, sorta. I told him with a blush and a sideways glance
as well as a nervous titter, ‘sure dad, let’s go with that’. He’s foh sho gonna murder me tonight. L This could possibly be my last post unless he
decides not to strangle his one and only daughter. Even if he doesn’t, I’m fairly positive I’m
about to get a pretty good talking to about dedication, practice and discipline. Unless I distract him with a new app for his
iPhone…oooooo snap!
Have a great one folks!
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