What Was I Thinking?
*originally posted December 13, 2008*
It sounded so simple and made so much sense. The cabinets were bare. Starving Princesses were grating on my every last nerve begging for food. We'd just run to the store for a few quick things. Nothing major, just the essentials. Your Majesty started making a list (maybe overkill for just a "few things", but I know that I do much better with the old bottom line if I stick to my list). Milk of course, then cereal, and bread... so far so good. Oh and we're out of paper towels, and nearly out of toilet paper... and I should get a few extra things to make the Princesses' lunches with... and maybe I'll be able to grab a few things off my stocking stuffer list....
We finally make it out the door, with a much longer list than "the essentials" would require. But that's ok. I'm organized and ready. We'll hit Super Wal-mart so fast we'll be out of there in no time. All the Princesses have gone potty, a fresh diaper is donned, My Little Ponies are in tow for amusement - we're good to go.
One small, teeny-tiny detail: It's Saturday. December 13th. A mere 12 days before Christmas. Before you break into song about swans a-swimming and partridges in pear trees, let's analyze the ramifications of going to Super Wal-mart in the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday just 12 days before Christmas:
1. No parking spaces. Ever wonder what the entire perimeter of the Wal-mart parking lot looks like? Go on a Saturday afternoon 12 days before Christmas. You'll get a chance to drive around it several times, watching every single car in front of you get lucky and snag a spot - only to leave you to drive on, circling and circling until your Princesses are complaining of getting dizzy.
2. No shopping carts. Really, I'm not sure what the problem is with keeping the cart corral stocked with carts. I probably passed 50 out in the parking lot - don't they pay teenage boys to push those suckers back to the building? Next time I'll grab one on my way in.
3. More than enough people. You would think that Wal-mart is the place to be on a Saturday afternoon. It's like being on a gigantic bumper car ride, except you are pushing your cars instead of driving them. And as time goes by, more weight is added to your car which makes it even more difficult to steer. Add in of course a Princess or two and then it really gets fun.
4. Lack of common sense. One would think that in a place like Wal-mart, swarming with people and nearly out of control shopping carts, one would take care to see that they stay within their own "space" and offer the simplest basic courtesy to others around them by not blocking aisles, barreling around corners, allowing their kids to swerve in and out of people on those blasted tennis shoes with wheels in the heel... one would think. But one would also be mistaken.
5. Murphey's Law: no matter what you do, you will always, ALWAYS choose the wrong check out lane. (just a PSA here: if you have a line 3 deep behind you and you're nearly done checking out when you discover that you forgot to grab some ornament hooks for your precious ornaments - do everyone a favor and come back another time to grab the hooks. Really, it's not that big of a deal. And it's not worth making everyone behind you in line wait an extra 10 minutes while you try to snag down a Wal-mart employee to have them go fight the crowds to bring back hooks for you. Use paper clips for crying out loud!)
6. No matter how well behaved, even Princesses can only stand Wal-mart for so long.
We're lucky we made it out alive.
My friends, have a wonderful, relaxing Labor Day weekend and stay away from Super Wal-Mart if you can help it! I'll see ya back here in a couple of days!
Holidays love them but they are soo much work. Hope your doing well and planning WAY ahead this year...
ReplyDeleteReading this post reminded me that I need to start my shopping now. I also did a lot of gifts online last year. You are right aout choosing the wrong line or the long line. Oh the parking! Have a great week and start shopping now!
ReplyDeleteMama Hen