On Saturday, Caroline and I were slightly bored and desperately needed to get out of the house, so because I am crazy I decided that a trip to Target was a good way to spend the afternoon. I had bought Caroline her own little Christmas tree and had been planning on taking her to pick out ornaments…it seemed like a really good idea at the time.
I loaded up my little greasy, ranch dressing smelling child and we headed to Target. On the way there, she told me she didn’t like Target because she had to sit in a cart. I told her since this was a very special trip to pick out Christmas ornaments for her tree, she could walk next to me. In theory, it had all the makings of a lovely afternoon…ranch dressing smell aside.
In yet another sign that she may have inherited her daddy’s taste, she picked out some of the biggest ornaments ever, including a red, feathered bird that is about half the size of her 3 foot tree. But since this was her trip, I only edited a few of her selections because who really needs a glittery ornament that says “Diva”? We headed home with the ornaments and put the tree up in her room.
Of course, in my Hallmark moment delusions, I had forgotten a couple of key elements. The first being that I was dealing with a napless, opinionated three year old who smelled like a salad, and the second being that the trip to Target and enforcing the walking “beside” the cart and not running off into the throngs of shoppers had already worn me down.
It basically ended with her telling me to just “leave MY tree alone” and me saying “Fine, but there is NO WAY that huge bird is going to be able to stay on the tree without knocking the whole thing over.”
If only the video camera had captured this festive mother daughter moment.
So after she finished hanging all of the ornaments on the same two branches of the tree and tangling the whole thing up in some garland, we headed over to Mimi and Bops’ house because she wanted to spend the night.
I dropped her off and since P was gone, I found myself at a loss as to what to do with my sudden free time. And because I am a wild and spontaneous kind of girl prone to madcap adventures, I went and got a pedicure. Then, as if the pedicure wasn’t already complete madness, I drove to Church’s Fried Chicken to pick up some spicy chicken tenders for my dinner because I have never been one to shy away for fear of trans fats or chicken restaurants located in a bad part of town.
I can say in all honesty that for a few minutes as I waited for my spicy tenders, I was more than a little afraid for my life, not because of the partially hydrogenated oil that I was about to consume, but because of the massive amount of seedy clientele that apparently choose to hang out at Church’s Chicken on a Saturday night. I thought how embarrassing it would be when people would say “Yeah, what a shame about Big Mama. If only she would have gone to Burger King like a normal person.”
I also thought that if something happened, no one would ever think to look for me at Church’s Chicken, except for maybe P because he knows my fondness for greasy, fried meats. He even knows that I like Long John Silvers…and he loves me anyway. (and now that my love of Long John Silvers has been documented on the internet, there is really no end to what other embarrassing information I may divulge)
Finally, my chicken was ready and I headed home. I propped up my freshly pedicured toes, ate my spicy tenders and caught up on every episode of Brothers and Sisters.
And I loved every minute of it, but I can assure y’all that I had no desire to dip my chicken in any ranch dressing.
