The golden lasso of the sad truth of my life
Yesterday morning I dropped Caroline off at school and then headed straight for Starbucks to meet Gulley for coffee. They were seriously pushing the pumpkin spice lattes, but I declined because if I’m mixing my coffee with anything it better be chocolate.
After we discussed the state of the economy and whether or not Dick Cheney has perhaps passed away (Seriously, when was the last time you saw Dick Cheney?) I decided it was time for me to get started on my list of errands.
I left Starbucks and drove straight to our neighborhood Target, only to discover that it no longer exists. The doors were boarded up. Look what happens when I’m sick for one week, they had to shut down the Target.
In reality, I knew the Target was about to close but had blocked it out of my mind because it was too painful, much like Sergio Mendes singing “Never Gonna Let You Go”.
They’ve opened up a brand new fancy Super Target to replace the old Target, however the Super Fancy Target is about eight minutes from my house and involves additional stoplights, whereas the old Target was only five minutes away which is a huge difference when you’re talking about ease of swing by and see if there’s any Mossimo on sale ability.
I drove to the new Target while I lamented the fact that I didn’t even get to say goodbye to the old Target. We had some good times together. Remember when Caroline’s diaper exploded right in the Accessories department? What about the time I knocked over an entire display of Hi-Ho Cherry-O because I wanted the box on the bottom? Oh old Target, you were often a light in my darkest hours of new motherhood.
There were many mornings at 8 a.m. when Caroline had already been up for two hours toddling all over the house, destroying everything in sight, and I’d remember that my friend Target opens at 8 a.m. God speed Old Target. I hope they turn you into something enjoyable like perhaps a Chick-fil-A with a giant indoor playground.
Oh I do dream big.
Anyway, the new Super Terrific Target is very shiny and new, complete with space-age plastic carts that made nary a squeak as I wheeled my way through the dollar aisles. I’m sure I’ll grow to love you new Target, but you have big shoes to fill.
And speaking of shoes, the whole reason I was in Target was to continue my search for red boots for Caroline. Why does she need red boots you may be asking? Because she is going to dress like the devil for Halloween.
I’m totally kidding, but somewhere I just made my mother-in-law gasp out loud.
The truth is that she is going to be Wonder Woman for Halloween, which has been a bitter costume pill for me to swallow. Even as late as August, I had her totally convinced that she wanted to be a black cat for Halloween and had already created the costume in my mind.
For those of you who may be new here, I am not a crafty person. I do not make things on a regular basis, unless you count guacamole and sweeping generalizations about the problems with the U.S. economy. But ever since Caroline was born, Halloween has brought out my inner craft diva. I would say it has brought out my inner Martha Stewart, but that’s not fair to Martha because my crafting skills are sub-par since I work primarily with glue guns and safety pins. I’m like a ghetto Martha Stewart.
I wanted to make a black cat costume complete with a big black tutu and some cute little sparkly, furry black ears and Caroline was totally on board until she discovered the Justice League and my new arch-nemesis Wonder Woman. All of a sudden she had to be a Super Hero. I tried to convince her that maybe she could be Super Hot Pink Cat which is one of the lesser known super heroes, but would still allow her mama to make a darling cat costume out of hot pink tulle and the addition of a cape and the hot pink boots she already owns.
But she wasn’t fooled by my diabolical scheme and insisted that she wanted to be Wonder Woman. And since my costume making skills are limited, I had to order a Wonder Woman costume off the internet. However, the costume doesn’t come with red boots, but rather some kind of tacky red boot covers. No way am I sending my baby out begging for candy and the occasional lame box of raisins (Nature’s Candy!) wearing some kind of faux boot.
Thus began my search for red boots. I wish I was kidding when I tell y’all that the quest for red boots has been on my mind more than the rapid decline of the Dow Jones. Those Wall Street people think they have problems, they have no idea what we’re dealing with here in Everytown, U.S.A.
The problem is that red boots in a child’s size 10 aren’t easy to come by unless you’re willing to shell out big money, which I am not. I need cheap red boots.
About two weeks ago, after desperately searching Ebay, I decided my search was futile and bought Caroline a pair of red Converse tennis shoes. I decided I’d sell her on the idea of being a more modern 2008 sporty Wonder Woman. A Wonder Woman with a style of her own.
But since she is my daughter, I knew she’d never go for it. In fact, on Monday I asked her what she thought about Wonder Woman wearing tennis shoes instead of boots and explained it would help her run fast to catch up with bad guys. She looked at me like I had lost my mind and said, “She doesn’t need to run after bad guys because she has her golden lasso.”
And that’s why I headed to Target yesterday, to look for cheap red boots. They didn’t have them. So I did the unthinkable.
I went to Walmart.
They didn’t have them either, although all was not totally lost because the brief five minutes I spent in Walmart just solidified my pledge to never, ever go in another Walmart. Ever.
Dejected and bootless, I picked up Caroline and her friend S. from school. We walked S. to the door and I told my friend J. about my red boot dilemma. She said, “What size do you need? Because I have these old black boots of S.’s. You can have them and spray paint them red.”
The black boots are Caroline’s size.
Later today I will purchase high-gloss red spray paint and fulfill a little bit of my inner Halloween craftiness.
And my friend J. is my new Wonder Woman.
