Today Hubby and I faced the elements (it was very rainy; meh!) and headed to the Mall.
We started with lunch at our favorite Indian spot. I thought I was ordering what I usually get, but not so. I only go to the mall once every two years (seriously), and I should learn not to trust my Teflon Brain. Too spicy! ‘Picked a bad day to miss my Prilosec.
Hubby hit the loo; meanwhile I did a panorama: I saw everything: gel-styled janitors checking out chicks, skinny-little indie girls, throw-back emo’s, a few gangstah wannabe’s, lots of brazen bimbos, and a few scary women way too old to be sporting bare muffin-tops!
Then we finally donned our gas masks and gagged our way through the frilly and fragrant front, and found our way back to the men’s department. I found it secretly entertaining watching “Jim” bounce between helping Hubby (6’ 2”, 240 pounds) and a little feller (5 foot nothin’, 130 pounds soaking wet). Somehow Jim juggled it all very well, and we got Hubby a suit, shirt, and tie for the wedding—all on sale. (Oh, by the way—yesterday I did finally find my shoes.)
We made our way back through the pink section—we looked a little like Andy and Aunt Bea appearing in an episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.
Then we trekked the mall a bit, looking at what Hubby dubbed “expensive trinkets.” Suddenly, I saw her. She had the haircut I want! I fumbled for my cell phone to attempt a snapshot at the back of her head. BLASTED technology! It was futile; she got away. I could not see my way clear to explain to Hubby why I was scheming to take off running down the crowded mall, and lasso a stranger to the floor with my shopping bag.
Next stop was the party store; I’d arranged with the bride to get the aisle runner. She’d told me one kind she did not want, so I got the other kind. ‘Turns out she didn’t want that kind either.
But I won’t be going for a refund: the next time I go to the mall will be too far in the future: I have suddenly remembered why I only go there every two years.