You'd think that in my house at the holidays that I already have enough amazing/timeless/appropriate decorations to not only decorate my own home, but half of the White House too.
As it turns out though, I don't. Not nearly enough. Not to mention, every year, when I ask the ol' ball and chain to go down to the garage and fetch me my Christmas decorations (which are in 4 jumbo bins) he always brings back one, and remarks "This is all we have."
Every year. Every Fucking year he brings up one bin and says "This is all we have" and I send him back down there, to our tiny one car garage (with no car in it) and he can't seem to locate the other 3 bins? Where could they be? And even more pressing WHY ARE THEY NOT STACKED ON TOP OF EACH OTHER??
You had one job. One job. Bring me my four fucking glitter bins to decorate the house. Yeezus!
Anyways, back to the story, I found myself in desperate need of more glittered items, and since there was some sort of accident on the freeway, I took the surface streets and found myself at Pier One.
Full disclosure: I don’t like Pier One. Nothing personal about it. It’s just that I think their overpriced shit is just like TJ Maxx and, let’s be honest, I’m a Maxxinista. Bitch.
So there I was, in sweaty gym clothes, not looking particularly rich or anything, I looked like, maybe I had some cash on me, or I don’t know, maybe a gift card some stranger handed to me as I was waiting outside of a grocery store checking my phone and they thought I was panhandler (do we still call them that?) and handed me a gift card to Pier One (and if I am a panhandler, why do I need ostentatiously and garishly decorated throw pillows? For my ostentatiously and garishly decorated cardboard box? Psh, no thank you.).
Anyways, I’m in gym clothes, and I do smell quite a bit, and my hair is messy, and yeah, I have no basket with me, but I’m strolling through the store looking for glittery items. As I am strolling slowly, and looking around slowly, an elderly cashier approaches me, somewhat hesitantly, looks me up and down and asks, “Are you finding everything ok, dear?”
“So far, so good,” I reply, slowly strolling away.
I finally find the glittery crap I need to decorate my home for the impending arrival of little baby Jesus and bring my stuff to the register.
As the same elderly cashier approaches me, she looks me up and down, and motioning to the basket of glitter asks in a somewhat condescending and simultaneously accusatory tone, “Is everything you want to purchase in this basket?”
I reply, “Umm, yeah. Oh wait, I do have some candlesticks up my butt…..do I need to pay for those as well?” And I roll my eyes.
She stumbles on her words, “Well, um, I..”
“I’m kidding, Jesus.”
As she is scanning all of my items and I pay with <gasp> real money, she takes the receipt, circles the web address where I can go and take part in a questionnaire about my “experience” at this store and will be entered to win a gift card.
I smile, grab my sack of glitter, and say, “Oh, I will definitely take part in that.”