Happy New Year Blogland!!!
I hope you all had a great holiday. The holidays were spent with PIC of course! I spent mine doing absolutely nothing but indulging my inner hedonist. I ate too much, drank too much, laughed too much (is that possible?) and well… anything else that tickled my fancy.
I apologize for being absent of late, so this is a two part post to catch you up.
Holiday Shopping Godzilla Style
Fearless shopper I am, holiday time at the mall still kind of scares me. And, for my PIC, holiday shopping at the mall is wholly unbearable. She needed to buy some things from our mall though, and I volunteered quickly to help her out.
Our adventure started out innocently enough. The true adventures didn’t begin until we were almost done shopping. PIC’s mom wanted a toaster oven. After scouring many stores, we finally found one….at the store clear across the other end where we parked. This, to novice shoppers, would have deterred buying. But nay. I make even shopping pros look like gangly beginners. I mean, who else for added difficulty wears four inch heel boots, still outpaces flat-shoe wearing friends and never stops for a break once? Me. That’s who.
So, I convinced PIC that it was a bulky item, but I could carry all the other purchases if she could navigate the path in front with the toaster oven. We made our way over screaming toddlers, the army of kiosk vendors (BACK OFF SEA SALT MAN!) and old ladies who stop mid stream to dig through their purses. I was so proud of PIC! She trudged through like a trooper!
Around the “vicky’s clearly out of secrets at this point” store, PIC stops short. Then I spy what she’s seen. A woman, bless her heart, who weighed no less than 400 lbs. She was scarffing down Dippin’ Dots, yelling loudly that she wanted a chair. Her hair was matted up in long, greasy strands. She was clad in festive green tights…or maybe those were stretch pants?, tennis shoes and a white bejeweled and bedazzled shirt.
PIC: Son of a
Enter son child of said lady.
I began laughing so hard I cried. Son of a Blimp has become the new catch-phrase. Go ahead and use it – you’ll laugh ridiculously loud, or at least PIC and I do….or maybe you just had to be there.
We entered the last leg of our journey, and then this happened:
The escalator ascending to the final exit was stopped. PIC looked at me with an emotional mix of fear and anxiety. So, what did I do? The “fix it” part of me took over. I snatch the toaster oven and go tromping. Tromping up the escalator, in the four inch boots, with bags lining up and down my arms. PIC is yelling for me to stop, but by the time it registered that I was literally making like Godzilla, it was too late – I was already in too deep. I had to finish. Small apologetic look to the lady I almost decapitated, snarly look to the teenager who looked at me all haughty and self important…. and I was done. Up the stairs, all bags accounted for and my PIC behind me.
Me: And that’s how you shop Godzilla style.
PIC: Stay put, I’ll get the car.
Back in the car, PIC and I decided to celebrate with some dancing. If you’ve read long enough, you know PIC and I have a proclivity to dance at will, and car dancing is almost 100% guaranteed when we are together. Today was a particularly beautiful day, so we had PIC’s t-tops out.
My happiest dance song EVER came one. Moves like Jagger. And baby, PIC and I do have the moves like Jagger! Then my next favorite song came on: Sexy and I Know It. Around the lyric “Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle yeah”, PIC stops dancing.
I look over at her, she’s looking up. I look up and see a woman in a big SUV peering into PICs car, giving us a wholly disapproving look.
Me: I forgot your windows weren’t tinted.
PIC: Yeah. They aren’t and neither are the t-tops.
The woman in the SUV looks at us over the brim of her glasses and I felt instantly transported back to third grade.
Hands folded in lap, ankles crossed, looking sweet, I exclaim: Son of a Blimp!!!
PIC and I laughed….and danced….the rest of the way home.
Tomorrow’s post: Meet Marci.