Well done Gloria Vanderbilt...you just lost a customer!

Good afternoon!

Most of you know that I recently changed jobs and now I'm working third shift.  While working at night and sleeping during the day is a big change for me, it's not even remotely the most annoying thing about this job change.

The company I work for has very specific uniform requirements, one of which is that we all must wear black twill pants.  BLACK.  TWILL.  PANTS.  

I'm not saying that black pants are the easiest piece of clothing to own, but I have a pair of wool, a pair of twill, two pairs of jeans, and a pair of twill Capri's.  I love black pants.  Bonus, in the last year I've sung the praises of Gloria Vanderbilt jeans and Capri's...how they fit, how a 16 is a 16  is a 16 and how I can walk in to Kohl's, pick up a pair of Gloria bottoms and walk out without the humiliating trip to the trying on room.

So last weekend, in preparation for the new job, Hubby and I took his Kohl's card  (I don't dare have one) for a workout.  I needed black pants and black shoes and black socks.  I knew, deep in my heart, that the black pants would be the easiest of the three things to find because, yes, Gloria Vanderbilt makes a BLACK.  TWILL. PANT. 

More exciting, the pants were 1)  built with an elastic waistband that would "stretch with ease" according to the label and 2) were on sale.

I tried a pair on and it seemed okay...a bit snug at the wait, but I figured, since the rest of the pant fit me like EVERY OTHER PAIR OF GLORIA VANDERBILT bottoms I've EVER put on, that the waist was something that was going to stretch with a bit of wear.

My first night of work, I didn't have the required uniform shirt, so the new boss told me to get a white polo shirt.

Okay, as a side note:  The white polo shirt is THE WORST SHIRT EVER for a fluffy girl to wear.  Don't get me wrong, I'm preppy to the  core and I love a collared shirt.  But there is something about polo shirts that is just really, really wrong on a bigger girl.  Women's polo shirts are cut like maternity tops, (SHORT maternity tops)and men's are about a mile long.  I loathe having my gut visible, so I chose the men's shirt.

Got to work...no problem...until about 5:00 in the morning when the morning kitchen person came in.  I introduced myself and, instead of saying something normal like "hi...how are you.  Welcome...did you like your first night"  this delightful miss glowered at me and said, "You know you're supposed to have that tucked in."

Alrighty.

By the end of the shift, it was really, really clear that no WAY was I tucking anything into those pants.  The "stretches with ease" waistband was so rough on the inside I was actually rubbed a little raw.  And clearly, there was not enough room for ME in those pants much less a shirt. 

Let me just say again...these pants fit me in every other way perfectly.  just not in the waist.

So, the morning after my first night of work, instead of going to bed like a normal person, I went out on what was to become a major QUEST for Black Twill Pants.  Peaches was very excited to go to the Mall on a Wednesday morning  (She finished 8th grade last week.)  so we went up to the mall where I had no less than four choices of stores that claimed to offer clothing to fluffy women.

The first store, my go to store for pants, CJ Banks, didn't even have PANTS.  I walked in, explained to the equally fluffy clerk what I needed and she made a face and said, "You want full length pants?  Ummmmmm, I don't think we have those right now."

Okay, it's June.  It's not Miami. 

She did manage to find a half rack of nicely priced clearance pants....but of course my size was not to be found.  For grins, I tried on the 16 tall, which was as close as they got to my size.  Sure enough...everything fit...EXCEPT THE WAIST. 

When I say everything fit, I mean everything was super comfortable and actually a little loose...except the waist band.  Imagine your favorite pair of sweat pants...not imagine someone cut off about 4 inches of the waistband and then band the band material of barbed wire.  You get the picture.

Not defeated, I thanked her and went to JC Penney's.  I've shopped there infrequently over the years, but my aunt swears by them, and I know they have a plus size department.

If that's what you could call the four racks of clearance sweaters and a shelf of black Capri jeans. 

Misses at JC Penney's takes up an entire floor.  Plus is four racks and a table.  In a country where 52% of all woman ages 18-49 has said they've purchased plus sized clothing, (I got this number from Reader's Digest Magazine.) why are big retailers IGNORING THE MAJORITY OF WOMEN?  I mean, I expect that of Walmart and Target.  I haven't purchased clothing at those stores in years.  Walmart makes an attempt, but Target is just insulting.  Sort of like Penney's, only Target slaps their four racks of plus next to the maternity clothes.  That's just mean.

My next stop, and at this point I'm a little steamed, was to Lane Bryant.  Now Lane Bryant is a store where I would shop in a heartbeat...if I had serious money.  I like their clothes, but their prices are ridiculous for the normal woman.  Apparently only the wealthy are allowed to be fluffy.  How very Rubens of them.

I found a pair of black twill pants, and I know they would have fit me.  However, I WAS NOT prepared to spend...get ready...$65 on a pair of pants I was going to be wearing to clean bathrooms, and frost donuts.

Furious, I walked the length of the mall to Sears.  At this point I had zero hope.  And I wasn't disappointed.  I actually had to ask a woman where the plus department was...since Sears does such a good job of hiding their...count it with me, one, two, THREE racks of plus behind swimsuits and shoes.  Really?  Oh, but the woman I asked attempted to lure me into buying new windows. 

More valuable than gold, harder to find than plutonium...the comfortable black pant.

At this point I'd been up for more than 24 hours in a row, I was cranky, I was hungry, and I was insulted.  NO, I  WILL NEVER BUY WINDOWS FROM SEARS.

I didn't even bother looking.  Apparently Sears' idea of a plus sized woman is an 80 year old tramp who likes her pants slinky and her tops ripped.

In complete desperation, I went back to Kohl's, the scene of the original crime.  Since I had $30 in Kohl's cash  (from my previous purchase of two uncomfortable pairs of pants and a white shirt I'll never where again) I went back to the Department of Redundancy that is the plus department there (every designer for Kohl's believes a plus woman loves tank tops (we don't) and will only wear pull on pants( while comfortable, we think of these pants and the final stage of giving up.)

I picked up a pair of the offending Gloria pants and held them up to every other style of Gloria pants.  Yep, just as I thought.  The "Waistband that expands with ease" was a full TWO INCHES shorter than the waist bands on her jeans and her Capri's.  And not just shorter...tighter material.  SHAME ON YOU GLORIA VANDERBILT.

After almost an hour of searching...and cussing...I managed to find a pair of pull on pants  (blech) and a pair of Lee pants that seemed decent.  The pull on pants were comfortable and on clearance.  The Lees were very comfortable and NOT on clearance.  But, the Lees were NOT pull on pants and therefore the winner.

Two hours.  Five stores.  $12 later (after the Kohl's cash) I had pants...and a shorter white shirt.  Tucked in and belted I sort of look like a soft sack of potatoes with a belt in the middle.  Lovely.

I wore the outfit for work last night and fortunately I got to wear an apron.  I was comfortable, so I guess that's what matters.  I plan on returning both pairs of Gloria pants (Kohl's is VERY liberal in their return policy, so beware...you might get pants I wore for a couple hours.  Another reason why washing clothes you buy is a MUST) and exchanging them for Lees.  Who knows, I'll probably, after this experience, flip over to Lee jeans as well.  Good Job Gloria, you just lost a customer for life. 

And I buy a lot of pants!

My most Memorable Memorial Day

Good afternoon all!

Happy Memorial Day!  God bless those who risked everything to protect our freedoms.

Looking back on Memorial Days past, I think as a child my parents did not really do much.  Since my dad was a teacher, chances are that those final report cards were due on the Tuesday after Memorial Day, so most of the Memorial Days in my childhood involved the green card table set up in front of his brown recliner.  Papers and his big desk calculator covered the table and we were instructed not to bother him.

I do, however, have one story I can share with you...from my days as a very young mother.  Skippy was not quite three, and I was pregnant with Peaches. 

I probably should mention this up front...I was never good at being pregnant.  I was excellent at getting pregnant at the wrong times  (Like when we didn't have health insurance) but actually being pregnant, well, I was not good at that.

Isn't this lovely?  Isn't pregnancy a beautiful thing?

See, pregnancy is sold to women as some sort of beautiful, peaceful growing process in which mother and unborn child spend their days before birth rocking in a lovely antique rocking chair with gauzy curtains blowing a gentle breeze on them both.  A pregnant women is always pictured quietly reading a book, perhaps to her other children, if she has them, or just to herself.  Perhaps there are pictures of pregnant woman strolling on a beach, always wearing something white and flowing, and always happy and lovely. 

Let's just call that THE BIGGEST LIE EVER TOLD.

I was pregnant exactly twice, and I was pregnant twice in large part because hubby and I didn't want Skippy to be an only child.  And both times I never wore white, I rarely sat in a rocking chair and the only reading I did scared me to death.  ("What to expect when you're expecting...the scariest book every written...) Most of the time while pregnant I was on my knees barfing into whatever toilet or sink was closest.  With Skippy I had wild, raging cravings that Hubby gallantly tried to appease.  The hardest one was for wedding cake.  Hubby brought home a lot of cake, but it just wasn't right.  (Didn't stop me from eating it, though.)  Also with Skippy I could not eat chicken of any kind.  I had to through out the frozen chicken in our freezer because I couldn't bear the thought of it being there.  (Oh, and we lived a block from a fried chicken place.  Awesome.)

They'll never show this picture in any of the brochures they give you when you find out your pregnant.  They should...but they won't.

  
With Peaches I was again, the Mount Vesuvius of pregnancy, only the twist this time was that I could not bear the SMELL of cooking meat.  Any sort of cooking meat.  (Perhaps it's no accident that Peaches is a vegetarian.)  While I did not gain as much weight and I did not swell up as much with Peaches as I did with Skippy,  I still held the family record for most weeks of continuous vomiting.  Awesome.

Anyway, the spring of 1996, I was just barely pregnant, but already in the throes of anti meat smell.  Hubby and Skippy often ate elsewhere since I couldn't stand to cook, and couldn't stand to have meat in the house.  Memorial Day weekend, we of course, had to go to a friend's house for a picnic.  I manage to control my gag reflex during the Sunday picnic, but the floodgates opened once I was home that evening.

The next morning, Memorial Day, dawned as mornings should...and at about noon I was cast into the depths of pregnancy hell as neighbor after neighbor fired up their grills in the time honored tradition of grilling dead animal flesh to honor our fallen soldiers.  I shouted out the window of my house, "MUST YOU GRILL SO LOUDLY?"  No one took notice.  Skippy and Hubby did their best with cool clothes and an endless flow of 7-up soda, but the handwriting was on the wall.  I spent the day face down in the toilet.

Friends, by the evening of that day my body had lost the battle.  The beautiful, yet sickening aroma of hot dogs, burgers, brats, sausages, steaks all of it, had done its worst.  I was down...on the couch...and did not get back up for two days. 

And with that, my friends, I wish you all a happy and safe Memorial Day....God Bless our veterans and our troops! 

Laundry List Friday: Top Five WORK Songs

Good morning!

Many of you know that today is my last day at a company I've worked for for five years.  I'm leaving the company for a long list of reasons, none of them really important.  What is important is that, in the process of finding a new job, giving notice, and finishing out those last few days I've had the chance to pause and think about just how lousy having to work for a living really is.  Come on...don't we all long to win the lottery and just sleep in every day?

So that got me to thinking about one of my favorite things: music.  And I realized that there are some songs out there that sum up perfectly what many of us feel about our jobs.  So, my friends, I give you my list of songs that best give voice to just how much we all wish we were independently wealthy:


5)  Todd Rundgren:  "Bang on the Drum all Day."

Green Bay Packer fans will recognize this as the "touchdown" song, but the rest of the working world has hummed this song at least once every day of their working lives. 

4)  The Ramones:  "The Job that Ate my Brain"

As a nod to Peaches, who adores the Ramones...who hasn't felt like their job was a brain sucking cloud hanging over them?

3)  The Bangles:  "Manic Monday"

Wishing it was Sunday...pondering lying to the boss about traffic making you late?  Regretting that extra bit of partying the night before?  Yep...we've all been there.

2)  Huey Lewis and the News:  "Workin' for a Livin'"

I get my check on Friday, but it's already spent.  Enough said.

1)  Johnny Paycheck:  "Take this Job and Shove it."

We're such a polite society...seriously, how much confusion could be avoided if this 2:34 anthem could just be every one's two week notice?

(And yes, an honorable mention has to go out to Loverboy's "Working for the Weekend."  It missed the cut by just a little bit because...well...it wasn't work loathing enough!)

Have a great weekend all!  Remember, Memorial Day is about remembering those who took on the job of giving their lives to protect us.  Hug a veteran!

OH NO! Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you CAN get injured sitting in a chair.

Good afternoon!

Well, as I count down the final two days of my status as day time employee...next week I start a 3rd shift job that promises new challenges, new experiences, and an unlimited access to donuts, I realize that I've been hobbling around with a very, very sore left butt cheek.

What is this bike thinking?  "DEATH TO THE WOMAN!  WE WILL KILL HER FROM THE BOTTOM UP!"

More precisely, a muscle within the cheek is very sore.  I noticed it first a week ago when I got off the recumbent elliptical  (My favorite method of torture...I mean exercise...) at Gold's.  Admittedly, I expected some soreness, since I haven't been all that good at getting to Gold's in the last month.  (It's May, I'm a mom...give me a break...I'd come to the gym, but I'm too busy filling out forms, paying for year end field trips, buying gifts for teachers, and ordering cakes for various graduation/confirmation/yay it's finally over gatherings.)  I got off the bike and instantly knew I'd pulled or strained something.  I wasn't too concerned.  I actually thought I was just sore because the seats on those bikes are not exactly cushy.  (Hey, Gold's...that's sort of a hint...how about some seat cushions for those bikes?) 

But it's been a week now, and that fanny cheek muscle is still very, very sore.  I don't like sitting down.  When I'm home, I lie down a lot.  Now, while you might think there's really no difference between what I'm doing now and what I generally do when I'm home...it IS different.  Most of the time, I lie down a lot, but I get up and sit up to do things like eating...folding laundry...talk to my mother on the phone.

I haven't done any of those things in a week because of this stupid sore muscle.  It hurts to sit, it hurts to stand for too long.  (This, by the way, is going to be somewhat lousy next week when I start my job where I'm expected to stand for an entire shift.)

Now I'm especially insulted because it's my BUTT that hurts.  Come on.  What is the most padded part of my body?  (Okay, my chin and my gut, but what's a really close second?)  MY BUTT?  How on earth can I possibly injure it by just sitting on it? 

This is going to look very, very bad for me when certain fellow members of my church read this.  See, the Church basketball season just ended.  For those of you who aren't 1)  into basketball and 2) not Lutheran, let me explain:  Church ball is a friendly league of teams made of members of churches who play other member teams from other churches.  There are age categories for the teams and all is a grand, fun time full of fellowship and joy.

I can't believe I got that out with a straight face.

Church ball, as I understand it, is a league made up of church member teams which are built to seek out and destroy competing church ball teams.  The games are long, and bloody.  At the end is a trophy and months and months and MONTHS of triumphant bragging rights.  

I can't count the number of members I've seen in church lately...especially the teens. who have been on crutches or sporting some sort of medical appliance.  Since I typically wear my thumb braces to church, it's nice to see others sporting injuries far more...exciting...than mine.  I will, without fail, ask the afflicted person about their injury and when they say, "Church ball,"  I mock them with my favorite come back, "No one's ever gotten hurt sitting down and watching TV."

BUT MY FRIENDS...that is EXACTLY how I got hurt!  I was sitting in Cardio Cinema, pedalling the bike a week ago, watching...I forget what, but if I had to bet on it, I think the movie was "I am Legend" because that seems to be a favorite with the person who picks out the movies for Gold's.  (Seriously...could we break up the "I am Legend" marathons with something less fatalistic...like maybe something from the John Hughes collection?)

So I have to hide this injury.  I have to walk like nothing hurts, seek out the softest seat on which to sit, and try not to grimace when I do sit down.  Because heaven help me if someone from Church Ball finds out about this!

I know my secret is safe with you! 

I might be putting too much reality into my reality TV viewing.

Good afternoon!

Okay, I'm not saying I get wrapped up in reality TV...but the last couple of weeks have been the best and the worst of times for me.


I was very happy for the sisters who won Amazing Race.

I was disappointed that Philip didn't announce is sanity to the jury and therefore beat Boston Rob on Survivor.  (Oh, and I'm super proud of my cousin, Andrea, who finished 5th against a lot of odds.)

I'm furious with America for voting out James on American Idol.  Seriously...you voted out JAMES?



I'm not that thrilled with the results of Dancing with the Stars.

I'm okay with Olivia winning Biggest Loser, but I was really cheering for Irene.

Basically, I've decided that any show that allows America to vote is going to get screwed up because Americans have proved they don't vote the right way.  Which is to say, they don't vote the way I do...


Just to be clear...I have never voted for a reality show contestant ever.  I vote in every election.  I agonize over the results of reality TV shows...not so much with the elections.  Do we see a problem here?

I go so far as to say things like, "If Boston Rob wins Survivor, I'm NEVER WATCHING THAT SHOW AGAIN."  Yeah, we all know I'll be back.  What else am I going to do with my evenings?  Talk to my kids?  HA!


Reality TV is way too real for me.  I've religiously watched almost every finale offered, my excuse for so much couch time is that the weather here resembles a dog that's been swimming in a river:  Wet, cold, and unpleasant smelling.  But the truth is even if it was 70 and sunny, I would still be glued to my TV because it's so VITAL THAT I WATCH THE FINALE!

Sure, I could save myself hours if I just read the results online.  But there's something about the pageantry, the excitement, the fact that it's LIVE that draws me in.  I've invested a lot of time in these reality contestants...the finale is the payoff and I care very much about the results.

Not enough to vote for them of course...

I'd like to say that I'm taking the summer off.  But "The Voice" is a new favorite, and there's always "America's Got Talent."  I MUST see just how much TALENT America has.  And I must see how the voting goes.  And then I must complain for WEEKS about that voting, though I don't take part in the process.

If politics involved candidates doing a Viennese waltz, or standing on a pole for five hours, maybe more people would vote for political candidates.  I would probably stop voting then, but I would care a whole lot more!

Maybe if Ryan Seacrest moderated debates, more people would vote for political elections?

And now I must go.  I've got a lot to do before American Idol comes on!

Laundry List Friday: Five reasons I know the world isn't going to end tomorrow.

Good morning!

For those of you wondering if Rick Springfield, overcome with love for my beauty and perfect concert preparations, asked me to run away with him...no.  He did not.  BUT, Dee and I had a marvelous time with our Rick friends Vicki and Wendy and we look forward to seeing them again tomorrow.

Which brings me to my laundry list today.  Much has been made of the idea that tomorrow, May 21, is going to be the end of the world.  Well, I'm one of those people who subscribe to the idea that no human knows when the world is going to end and frankly, we should just stop using so much energy predicting the end of the world and put that energy into voting on American Idol.  Seriously, how is James NOT in the finals?

So here are my top five reasons why the world is NOT going to end tomorrow.

5)  I have a balance on all of my credit cards.

Face it...credit card companies want their money.  And as long as credit card debt exists, the world is going to keep turning.  I couldn't get that lucky!  I'm still paying for a pair of shoes I HAD TO HAVE in 2004.  The shoes are long gone, but the credit card debt remains. 

4)  Not all NFL teams have made it to the Superbowl.

Dude, don't think of it as missing the Superbowl for the 75th straight year!  Think of it as saving humanity!

Face it:  God is an American Football fan.  That's why that sport is so completely awesome.  BUT...until all the teams make it to the Superbowl, the world is not going to end.  So congrats, Detroit, Jacksonville, Houston, and "new" Cleveland.  Your teams are staving off the end of humanity.  And frankly, if we have to wait for the Lions to make the Superbowl, we could be on this planet for a very long time.  I should probably recycle more. 

3)  I haven't paid for my kids' college yet.

While having the world end tomorrow would really take a financial load off my mind...God has a wild sense of humor.  (Don't believe me?  Have you ever watched giraffes mate?)  The world will end the day after Peaches graduates from college.  We'll have been living in a box, eating ramen noodles for three years...and with the end of college tuition payments in site...BAM...it's all over.  With any luck, Skippy will decide he needs grad school and will graduate on the same day.

2)  "Lies in Chance" isn't out yet.

The book I've worked for 30 years to write will be released on June 4.  Given the set backs we've had with this book, and given how long I've worked on it...I'm convinced the world will end on June 3.

1)  I have Rick tickets for Saturday night.

The world is NOT going to end on Saturday because I'm just not going to let it end until I get one more Rick concert under my belt!  There, I said it.  By sheer will power I'm going to keep this planet spinning until the final shirtless encore tomorrow night.  After about 10 pm however, you're all on your own!

Happy weekend everyone!

It's funny what I'll stand in line for...

Good afternoon!

For those of you who are concerned, yes, I am ready for the Rick Springfield concert tonight.  My hair is colored all one color...and I'm not saying I changed the color much, but for the last two days I've been surprised when I look in the mirror.  I've removed as much unwanted body hair as I can, and I've painted my toenails.  Now, while I might seem a bit optimistic...wearing sandals when the high today is going to be a damp 53 degrees...if I don't wear my fancy sandals tonight, I'll be ready to go on Saturday night when it might be a touch warmer.  The capri pants I was planning on wearing however, well that is a bit optimistic, even for me.

Meanwhile, yesterday was an interesting afternoon for me.  Many of you know that when I'm in the car I'm not what you'd call a patient driver. The same goes double for drive throughs, especially at the bank.  I go to drive throughs only when I have a simple transaction to handle, and I expect others to live by that rule also.  I have no problem at all shouting at the person in front of me at the bank drive through if I have to wait more than, say, three minutes.

So yesterday I was making a simple deposit for work.  It should have been simple anyway...one car ahead of me...which actually pulled away when I pulled up.  The clerk was front and center when my neatly ordered checks and deposit slip hit the suction tube thingy that takes the deposits to the clerk at the window.

The way my bank is set up, the cars in the drive through actually face the bank so we can see everything that's going on while the clerks are handling our transactions.  For me, this is generally not a good thing, because when I'm sitting in a line in my car I'd better not see anyone CHATTING AND NOT DOING BANKING STUFF!

But yesterday, as I mentioned, I was in and things were clicking. 

In almost record time the clerk thanked me and popped the plastic thing into the suction tube thingy. 

And then....

Have you ever had to sit under an industrial hair drier?  That's sort of the sound the bank suction thingy makes, isn't it?  Well, something was obviously STUCK because that noise roared in my ears  (I had the car window open so I could get my slip and leave.)  for no less than three minutes before someone BOTHERED to find out what was going on.  What were they doing in those other three minutes?  Helping customers?  No.  THEY WERE CHATTING AND LAUGHING AND SINCE THEY WERE FACING ME IT LOOKED LIKE THEY WERE LAUGHING AT ME.

Sort of a "Ha ha, we're not actually going to send you your slip....let's see how long it takes for the fat girl in the car to get into a big frothy rage."

For the record, it takes, under those circumstances, forty five seconds. 

When the clerks were done pointing and laughing, someone realized that something was stuck.  I am not sure what she did, but she did manage to make the sound LOUDER for another minute.

Someone else, ironically a fluffy girl, came over and fixed the issue.  I got my deposit slip and was on my way.

I told you that to explain why my next errand was funny.

Yes, we've rethought our purchase of bowler hats and white pants.

So I get to Kohl's to return yet another bra, and I'm in a rage because of the wait at the bank.  Well as luck would have it...there was a long line at the returns desk.  Now, when you're in line to return something at a store, they really don't give you much to do except listen to the complaints of the customer ahead of you.  The customer directly ahead of me had an great transaction...it went something like this:

"I want to return these pants."

"OK, we can do that for you.  Was there anything wrong with the pants?"

"No, I just want to return them."

"Fine. No problem.  Now it says here you used a debit card."

"I don't have a debit card."

"But your receipt says you used a bank debit card."

"I don't have a debit card.  I only use my Kohl's card."

"But ma'am, the receipt you've just handed me says you used a debit card."

"I don't have a debit card.  I want this credited to my Kohl's account."

"I'm sorry...you didn't use your Kohl's account for this purchase so I can't credit it to your account."

(I know...I was surprised too.  I didn't think Kohl's had any return restrictions either!)

"I did because I only ever use my Kohl's card for Kohl's purchases!"

"But ma'am...could you have written a check?"

"Oh yes, right?  I wrote a check.  Well, then, I'd like my money please."

So after listening to that exciting exchange it was my turn.  My patience was, as you can expect, not terribly healthy at this point.  I returned the bra and went in search of the perfect concert purse.  ( I found one.  It cost me $3, holds nothing but my cell phone and some cash, and I can wear it across my body.)

Having hunted and gathered this most precious possession, I then headed up to the check out line.  As you may remember, the last time I attempted to check out at Kohl's I nearly came to blows with the lady because she wouldn't take NO for an answer when I said I didn't need a Kohl's card.

And there she was, waiting for me with eyes glittering. 

My friends, I'd already gone through a frustrating wait at the bank and at the returns line.  I didn't want to wait in line for one more minute.  However...

The check out line right next to her had a couple purchasing a carpet cleaner, two bottles of carpet cleaning solution, and several pairs of untagged socks.  They were paying with pennies, they weren't sure they could get the carpet cleaner to their car unassisted, and they wanted credit for the mail in rebate up front.

With joy I got into line behind them.

Did others go through Credit Card woman's line more quickly than I?  Several shoppers did, in fact.  But I saved myself the aggravation of saying NO fifty times.

So I guess what I'm saying is that I will happily wait in line now for a couple of select things:

1)  A roller coaster

2)  A Rick Springfield signing

3)  To avoid the woman who won't take no for answer when I don't need a store card.


Yes, it's good to learn things about yourself!

And now, I'm off to the concert!  :)