on shopping

First, Andi: For some reason that makes me happier than it ought to.  I've always wanted to be a bassist.  Or a drummer.  It's nice to know that I'm musical and skinny in some lifetime.

Now.  I spent the morning shopping.  This is not something I normally do, b/c it is something I normally hate.  Most of it was grocery shopping, though, which I do usually enjoy.  But when I have a kid or two or three with me, I'm on a mission.  Get the items on the list, get out.  No, you can't have a smoothie.  No, I'm not buying that "cereal."  No, you cannot have that toy.  I don't buy groceries at the toy store and I don't buy toys at the grocery.  Anyway, I went to the co-op by myself.  I was going to get bread and cream, but having a chance to actually look at all the food inspired me.  Tonight, we'll have roasted veggies on quinoa (yes, Steve, you still have to come home).  But tomorrow night, my home-at-7-after-a-zillion-lessons day, we shall have a cheese tasting dinner. I bought a bunch of cheeses and some things to put them on, and some fruit.  I'll give the kids each a card to record their favorites.  It will be an event.  With cheese!

Food gathered, it was a bit after 10.  Seemed like a waste to go all the way home, just to leave in an hour to get Lily.  So I went to Starbucks to acquire our costly coffee.  Then I went into Anne Taylor Loft.  I don't usually go into free-standing boutiquey stores b/c I usually have kids with me who would rather just lay on the floor and scream.  Which, truthfully?  I totally get.  But my ass is expanding (thanks, Baking Illustrated!  And wine!) and I need a pair of pants.  And dammit, I'm not going up a size, so I'll just get more expensive clothes so that they're sized big.   Yes, I am precisely that vain.  And not a bit more. 

Unfortunately, the good buyers at ATL did not get the memo about pant legs becoming less flared.  So pants seem to come in bell-bottom or "skinny."  You know what, fashion people?  Stop putting the word "skinny" on pants larger than size 12.  It isn't funny, you aren't fooling anyone.  Even if there aren't any quotes around the word, they're thoroughly implied and I'm resentful.  And another thing?  What is with all the girly girl styling on the tops?  Ruffles and puffy sleeves and wittle bows?  First, if your bra is larger--in cup or in band--than 34B, don't wear ruffles down the front of your shirt.  And if you're older than 24?  Don't wear them at all.  And those twee little puffy sleeves?  No.  Just, no.   Anything can be pulled off by a 6 foot tall, 120 lb 22 year old.  The same is not true of...well, me.  And I assure you, there are more of me.  Next:  Was there some sort of moratorium on natural fibers?  Modal is just rayon, people.  I am not all a twitter about it.  I was trying to go through the sale rack, but the fabrics were so nasty I didn't want to touch them.  In spite of being short, fat, and sweaty, I did find a pair of pants and a cotton sweater.  On sale.  Yay.

On to Target.  Steve is taking Ben and Lily to NJ this weekend to check on Great Grandma, since Grandma and Grandpa are in Israel.  Julianna is going to stay with me and we'll have a girls' weekend.  To sweeten the pot for the smalls, I was planning to get each of them a cool toy to play with while roasting in GGma's apartment.  Target didn't have the coveted N-1 Naboo startfighter, so I just browsed the store.  I usually can't pay attention to people in the store b/c I've brought my own people with me.  See above.  But checking out, with some crisp new sheets, I heard the woman behind me saying, <perk> "Can you put that on the band?  Can you?  Can you just put it up there?  YAY!  High five!  Hey, High Five!  C'mon, High Five! YAY!  You are such a helper!  thanks so much for helping me!" </perk> As her pack of disposable razors and liquid soap (thank god you had help with that!) rolled toward me, I thought "when I turn around to look at her, I hope to god she's got a chimp in that cart with her.  A developmentally disabled chimp. Otherwise, my eyes will roll allllll the way back and I'll have to bang my head on the wall to dislodge them."  It was just a kid.  About four, and clearly past the "Good Job!" stage.  By now she knows her mom is a helpless twit and she lords it over her.  "Should I put these razors on the band?  mmmm...yummy....maybe I'll EAT them!  Ahhhhhhh...GOTCHA!"

Lord knows I've never been a font of tolerance, but I find myself so annoyed by moms of small children lately.  I was in the librarywith Lily on Monday.  We were having a Lily Day and she'd chosen to go the library to read and then out to lunch.  So there we were, reading.  And there was this little gaggle of Mommies, each with a toddler, just chirping away about Big Boy Beds and Big Girl Panties and I just wanted to nap, listening to them.  It seems like a million years and another species ago.  I'm so grateful to have bigger kids now.  Toddlers are cute, but insane.

Anyway.  I've shopped all I want to for at least a week.  Turns out stores have people in them. ick.