06 January 2009


It's one of those days.

You know the sort: the son woke me up when he got in the shower (boy, is the position of that bathroom changing when I get the other half of the house sorted...), and I fell back asleep for about 30 seconds, or at least long enough to have a brief but extremely bizarre dream that was just...bizarre. No narrative, no plot and lots of irony.

So, I woke up a second time, threw on my clothes, packed the kid's lunch and dragged him off to the bus (41F, four degrees warmer than yesterday. No frost on the lawn and I almost broke a sweat on the way home. It may not sound like it, and for about 27 seconds when I walk out the door, I don't, but I love this early morning moment).


The moment I got back in the door, the daughter began asking me about transitive and intransitive verbs (English-language, thank god, since I'd only had one cup of coffee and probably couldn't have managed anything verbal in another language at that moment). I gave her a quick explanation and I prepared to fling myself into the shower.









Left to my own devices, I might say that I'm going to the mall and then conveniently never get there. I can come up with 371 reasons why I should never go to a mall (today's was more unique and went beyond the usual But I Don't Like Shopping!: Nordstrom had these gorgeous cashmere wraps, and seeing them sitting there on the display in all their soft, fuzzy and colorful display...Just one of those things I need like I need a hole in my head). About the only reliable way to get me into a mall is to forcibly deliver me to one. Then leave with the car. Which is what the spouse did at 8:11 am.

I needed to do returns. I needed to pick up some items that are difficult to pick up online. I needed to track down a new sports jacket for the spouse, who occasionally requires something nice to wear to court or a deposition, and wouldn't, in a zillion years, think of buying it for himself.

(The fact that I also need to find a bottle of Lugols Iodine somewhere is just a non-sequitur. It's Science Fair. Again.)

It's also not a bad idea that I occasionally get out of the house and revisit the rest of the world.


So, there I stood, armed with lists, boxes and failing resolve.

In the first store, I found myself actually browsing...and then I was toying with the idea of a waffle iron (...like I need a hole in the head), and decided it was time I got down to business. So, clock radios, binders, a new spoon for stirring pots of stew.

Returned the CD that the son succeeded in getting me to buy twice. Unfortunately, I ended up returning the CD and leaving Barnes and Noble with a huge bag of books and DVDs (and one Blu-Ray disc, dammit. Like I need a hole in my head! I'm not a completist. I don't even have a Blu-Ray player! Of course, now I need one...).

Wandered through the cool morning air, picking up all the odds and ends on the list.

And there it was: my reason for coming to the mall, why I do need to get out of the house once in a while.

Fashion Inspired By Bollywood!

(Not that I exactly dress Bollywood. Not that I'm even sure what that might mean.)

This is what I'm missing by shopping online! I'm missing stores like this one. I stopped in the middle of the walkway, mouth agape and just gawked at the very spare display in the window, banner flying above the yellow t-shirt proclaiming "Fashion Inspired By Bollywood." The bored woman behind the register gave me a slightly hostile look as I ran off, unable to contain my giggles.

Definitely a revelation.

At home, the son pawed through the bags that contained socks and DVDs and that telling Blu-Ray disc and men's trousers and a tube of hair stuff and he came upon the books. He pulled one out and laughed.

"What?" I demanded. "Someone at the book store gave it a really good recommendation."

The girl he likes at school is apparently reading this book.

"I can't wait to tell her my mom just got a copy," he chortled.

"Is there something I should know about this book?" I snarked. "It's not like it says YA or anything."

"Yeah, but I think it's like the Twilight series."

I groaned and yanked it out of his hand. "Okay. Back it goes."

"NO! Now you have to read it. Because I'm going to tell her you're reading it."

And that is what happens when you go to the mall.

Go listen to some good music: "Wow" from the album Final Straw by Snow Patrol.

No comments: