Miss Piggy and I just returned from a soggy walk around the neighborhood. She of the dainty paws didn’t want to go, but it was a necessary trip. “Something in the air,” if you get the drift. Hers, I mean.
We need a little Christmas around here. Our street doesn’t seem as festive as some others in the neighborhood, so I need to do my part to remedy that. I’ll e-mail the neighbors and ask them to ramp it up a notch.
Here at the Lee house, “behind” is the watchword of the day. For starters, we’re still on ours–snoozing on our respective sofas–coughing and hacking, although I have been out a few times on quick errands.
“The Creeping Crud” is not the only reason I’m behind. Since I always make–and break–some kind of self-improvement resolutions, this year I decided to start early. The sands of time aren’t just shifting; they’re blowing into my eyes, settling in my rear end, sandbagging my bosom, and leaving tracks on my face.
A couple of weeks ago I ordered a lighted makeup mirror with enough magnification to allow me to see the freckles on a flea. Whoa! For the first few days it was a full-time job just de-foresting my nostrils and chin. Not only that, but my skin is so dry that the magnifying mirror showed little bits of dried skin here and there.
Snow may be in, but flaky is not a good look or state of mind at any time, so a trip to the cosmetic counters was in order. The cosmetic companies may want to put out bids.
Thursday morning, one of the department stores opened earlier than the rest of the mall, so that seemed the ideal time to go. I could hit the cosmetic counters without an audience. (WHY do they put them in the middle of the store?) Because of the hour I found a great parking place.
Inside, it didn’t look that holiday-ish. Looks like the mall cut back on decorations this year.
I knew that senior citizens (yeah, I wrote that with a straight face) walk the malls in the morning, but I was surprised to see all the young moms with strollers. About a dozen women had their strollers lined up in front of a closed store so the babies could watch the mommies do aerobics. Awwww! Another large group of moms was walking double-file, pushing strollers large enough for the kid to have a sleepover inside. In prime shopping traffic, they would constitute a nightmare. At 9 AM, they were cute.
The cosmetic idea went south quickly. Whoever made the executive decision to let the “we’re so hip!” makeup line–whatever it was– play loud, jarring music at their counter apparently missed school the day of the SOUND TRAVELS lesson. The very HIPPY among us who might have visited Laura Mercier or Estee Lauder without the noise decided it would be less of a headache to visit Walgreen’s later. Maybe it’s not so obnoxious during the peak hours, but in a quiet store…yikes!
Shopping is complicated for me. I get some weird notions in my head and end up sabotaging myself. For instance, I am desperately in need of a new handbag. Here are my criteria for selection:
- can’t cost a fortune. I may not want to be buried with it.
- mustn’t weigh a ton so I can actually carry stuff in it without rotator cuff injury.
- must have a good but not complicated closure so that if it falls between the seats in the movie theater, everything doesn’t fall out and roll down to the front.
- shouldn’t be a walking billboard for the designer unless they pay me to carry it.
- can’t be a Calvin Klein or Jessica Simpson because I haven’t forgiven him for his old kiddy porn underwear ad series. Jessica Simpson? We are talking Daisy Duke here, aren’t we?
Notice that I have already assigned myself an impossible task and I haven’t even mentioned style, size, or color.
On to Ready-to-Wear because my wardrobe hit bedraggled several seasons ago and every time I go out, DB begs me to buy something for myself.
Once again, I came up empty. Scratch everything sleeveless, see-through, spandex, butt-high, or Dry Clean Only and I’m left standing by the clearance rack of flannel nightgowns in the lingerie department.
I didn’t buy a darned thing except for a cup of peppermint mocha which smelled divine. I left just as the parking lot was reaching saturation. Valet parking is $5, so it hardly seemed worth it to try to sell my parking space for $4.50. Drivers were getting surly and one almost hit me as I walked to my car. Once he realized I was parked in the Promised Land he almost rammed the car behind him, trying to back up to snag my space.
I didn’t move until he drove on in disgust. I left my space to the civilized human being behind him.
Merry parking space, Lady. Watch out for the strollers.