For about the last twenty years, Gulley and I have blocked off the first weekend in December for our annual Christmas shopping girls’ weekend. We spend all day Friday and Saturday finishing all our Christmas shopping and then stay up late on Saturday night wrapping all the presents.
Of course twenty years ago we didn’t refer to it as a girls’ weekend because we were nineteen and the weekend pretty much resembled what every day looked like, except substitute buying Christmas presents and wrapping them with buying new outfits for ourselves and flirting with convenience store employees named Al.
But ever since Gulley started us on the motherhood track almost eight years ago, the weekend involves a little more planning and coordination, which basically means P goes hunting and Caroline spends the weekend with Mimi and Bops so that we have my whole house to ourselves and it becomes just like our college apartment but with furniture that isn’t made of plastic and requires self-assembly upon purchase.
Our first stop on Friday morning was Starbucks because as Caroline has taken to saying these days, “DUH. WHY WOULDN’T IT BE?” Armed with our various caffeinated beverages, we headed out to Nordstrom Rack because I’d gotten an email earlier in the week announcing that they were getting in a whole new shipment that day. And it did not disappoint. In fact, we both bought a new coat for ourselves. I didn’t think I’d actually admit that publicly, but we did. We bought ourselves new coats because they were an additional 35% off already INSANELY low prices and it was 33 degrees outside with six flakes of snow and I have never felt like a purchase was more necessary. I feel that what I saved in the cost of potential hypothermia healthcare expenses more than makes up the cost of the coat.
After that we went to TJ Maxx because I was looking for some inexpensive red glass goblets for my china cabinet but there were none to be found, but we did find a few items for some people on our shopping list which was fortunate since that’s really the whole goal of the weekend.
(Well, that and eating lots of chips and queso.)
And then we found ourselves at Target.
We decided to go to this particular Target because we both feel strongly that the Target closer to our homes is completely overshopped. They never have anything good and I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this but it takes four extra minutes to get there and an additional two stoplights.
I’m not really sure that the foreign Target was any better, but we did manage to find quite a few things on the toy aisles and also nearly take someone out with the Rip Stick protruding from the bottom of our cart. I could not be sorrier that I misjudged the width of that aisle.
When we got back in the car, Gulley was able to cross several things off her list. This is a very important part of the process for Gulley. She has a meticulous list that she carries with her every year and painstakingly crosses off each item as it’s completed. However, this year she graduated to a full-on leather bound notebook that she clutched to her chest at all times in a grand display of shopping OCD.
I didn’t have any sort of list because I prefer to just guess at what I need and then get home and feel the agonizing disappointment and frustration of realizing that I didn’t necessarily achieve anything other than buying myself a coat and I’ll have to make another trip to Target when my love for humanity is already perilously close to expiring. And yet I mock Gulley and her Journal Of Christmas Accomplishments.
On Saturday, I thought we were going to hit a few stores and then go to the mall, but instead we apparently traveled back in time to 1983 because we saw this:
Denim. Puffy. Vest.
The only thing that would make it more wrong, if that’s even possible, is if it came with sleeves that zip on and off. Gap, I have seen the face of ugly and it is this vest. You should not design and sell clothing based on what was in my Big Bob’s closet back in 1978.
Then we saw this:
“Monchhichi Monchhici, oh so soft and cuddly. With his thumb in his mouth he’s really sweet. It’s fun to play with his little feet.”
Sure, I can remember that but can’t remember that we’re out of dog food when I went to the grocery store specifically to buy dog food. Perhaps it would be helpful if I’d carry a leather-bound notebook full of lists.
However, I’m a little sad I didn’t grab that Monchhichi because, not only does he make me recall catchy commercials from the recesses of my brain, a bit of bad news hit the wire this weekend.
(Who am I? Wolf Blitzer? Hit the wire?)
I don’t know if you’ve heard, but it looks like Mr. Squiggles may have have the Faux Hamster Flu according to some consumer group and Santa may need a backup plan if there’s a big joy-killing recall about to take place.
I always thought that Mr. Squiggles was bad news. Here’s hoping that he keeps whatever funk he has to himself and doesn’t spread it Num Nums or Chunk, especially since I was DELIGHTED BEYOND ALL NORMAL REASON to discover that instead of the lame faux hamster exercise wheel that I thought I purchased at Walmart a few weeks ago, I actually purchased the garage and little hamster car.
I’ll just be sick if Chunk isn’t well enough to drive around the living room on Christmas morning.