Mall. Rats!

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.

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