We Made It Out Alive
Black Friday. Just the words are enough to give me the hives, never mind the crowds, lines, traffic snarls, grumpy shoppers and stifling hot, overcrowded stores. No thanks, not for me; I’m more a day-after-Thanksgiving-recluse. So, how did I find myself driving to Neighboring City at seven o’clock this morning for an end-run on the mall? Blame The Teenager who just had to have new pants, new bras and new shoes. Actually, blame it on the growth spurt that brought her to within an inch of my height in the past two weeks.
And, while that doesn’t completely explain why we went today, of all days, the sales were pretty darn good and, assuming she will grow another inch (or eight) in the next two weeks; paying full retail just wouldn’t make sense.
Thriftiness didn’t stop me from breaking into hives the minute we hit Old Navy and saw check-out lines stretching the entire length of the store, however.
As I said, we survived and, I even managed to knock out the majority of my Christmas shopping so, despite the itching, burning and general redness caused by the allergic reaction to the unwashed masses; it was a successful mission (a bra-mission, as the Man-Cub insisted on referring to it despite the fact that his merely vocalizing the word bra, mortified his sister).
Upon arriving home from the not-so-secret-bra-mission, I set about decorating the house for Christmas. I have everything done save for decorating the tree which we will do once Hugh gets home, tonight. In the meanwhile, I am sorely tempted to eat the last remaining slice of my from-scratch-homemade-pumpkin pie, not because I am a glutton, nor because it is the best damn from-scratch-homemade pumpkin-pie-in-the-history-of pie but; because I heard, somewhere, that it pumpkin pie cures hives.
Not a glutton. Not, at all.