WHAT ARE YOU BUYING? HMM . . . . DEPENDS . ..

I was at Target a few nights ago picking up a some things and got in line to check out. There were only a few people ahead of me, so the line was moving right along. Still, it was the end of the day and I was tired, and I caught myself staring wistfully at the Starbucks as I moved forward in line. The Starbucks is, of course, located strategically just beyond the checkout so that even if I wasn't thinking about wanting one, by the time I leave Target, I always do. I had to remind myself that I would be eating as soon as I got home, and didn't really need the extra few hundred calories from a Chai Latte.

As I was standing there, my thousand-yard-stare was interrupted by the man in front of me saying, "These aren't for me."

I blinked, focused, and looked at him to see what he was talking about. He was a guy in his early 40s, and was standing there very uncomfortably holding a package of adult diapers and waiting for his turn in line.

I hadn't actually noticed that he was holding a package of Depends until he pointed it out. Dude - two words for you - What. Ever. I am a complete stranger that you will never likely see again. Why feel compelled to tell me that you will not be using the disposable drawers you're toting around Target?

I missed a few beats while I took all this in. Finally, I very profoundly answered him: "OK," I said.

Perhaps an "OK" wasn't what he was looking for. Maybe he wanted me to tell him that I too shop at Target all the time for adult diapers for someone other than myself. He was apparently so hyper-sensitive about it that he felt obligated to further explain.

"These are for my father," he said. "He lives with my wife and me - has for past six months. These are for him."

He obviously wasn't going to let this go, but I didn't really know what else to say to him about the matter. Somehow, "good for you!" or "how about that!" didn't really seem appropriate.

Instead, I decided to try to add a little levity to the situation. I held up the package of Batman underwear I was buying for Aleita and said, "These aren't for me. They're for my daughter."

He just looked at me for a moment, rolled his eyes and shook his head slightly as if to say 'whatever' and turned back around. It was soon his turn to go through the cashier's line.

After his chattiness, I was a little surprised. I then quickly realized that he thought I was making fun of him, like "Yeah, those Depends are for your dad like these underpants are for my daughter. Right." I thought about trying to explain that my five-year old daughter is really into boy stuff -- superheroes, action figures, Power Rangers....thus, the Batman underwear. Then I thought, "who cares?"

GUY FROM THE LINE IN TARGET - -

IF YOU ARE READING THIS,

JUST KNOW THAT IT IS OK - - I BELIEVE YOU!

Where you WON'T find me shopping at the mall . . .

Chris and the kids and I hit the mall tonight to make our Christmas returns. We actually didn't have that much to do, so it went fairly quickly. We had parked down on the end by J. C. Penney - - I don't often get past the bookstore at that end of the mall, so it is always a surprise to me when I pass the Native American store and see that it is still in business. I am always completely amazed that it stays open. It is a rather large store, encompassing two regular size rental spaces. In addition, that end of the mall has the least amount of foot traffic, I have yet to see anyone else in there other the person working, and besides that, the stuff that they sell is completely hideous. (OK - admittedly, I am not a big fan of the "Southwest" decorating scheme, but this stuff is hardly the stuff of actual artists. It is more "Southwest kitch" rather than "Southwest art.") This store is full of poorly crafted paintings of howling wolves and tired cowboys, cheap feathered things glued together to make "dreamcatchers," low quality pottery and scratchy wool blankets -- more than likely all made in a sweatshop in Mexico or China, rather than the southwest United States.

Obviously someone is shopping there because it has been in business for a few years now -- though I have no idea how. A money laundering operation perhaps? That is truly the only plausible explanation that I can come up with as to why that place has managed to stay afloat. Seriously - - how can they manage to pay rent AND their employees AND purchase merchandise and still turn a profit? Who is shopping there???

ONE MAN'S HELL ON EARTH

Is it just my husband, or do all men hate IKEA?

A few weeks ago, I was up Chicago-way, and decided to stop in a browse for a bit at the Bolingbrook IKEA (I know that Schaumburg is bigger, but I was closer to Bolingbrook.) I think that most of the furniture from IKEA is kind of janky, but I do like looking at all their assorted what-not – I believe they refer to it as the “Marketplace.” Regardless, for some reason, shlepping through bargain priced aprons, lamps, picture frames, tables cloths, glasses, spatulas, and other assorted home paraphernalia apparently brings me some odd sort of happiness. I also like looking at their slightly-freaky Swedish cartoony kids’ toys for some reason. It is easy for me to while away a few hours just complacently meandering through a whole bunch of stuff that I never knew I wanted but now somehow feel the compulsion to purchase.

My husband refers to IKEA as “IKEA-Hell.” If given the choice between just about anything else and IKEA, he would choose the anything else. He simply can not understand how I can spend two hours slowly browsing around a large two-story warehouse, and then simply purchase a set of hand towels and rug and call it good. After about fifteen minutes in the place, his patience is exhausted.

His solution to this problem is now to simply refuse to visit IKEA with me. If we are together and I insist on going, he will drop me off, and then set a time to pick me up later. I think he usually hits a nearby bookstore while I shop, but who knows – he may be somewhere walking on hot coals or swallowing glass – both of which I am sure he would prefer to leisurely following me through IKEA. This method of IKEA visits works out better for the both of us.

As I said though, I was there a few weeks ago and saw the couple that Chris and I used to be in IKEA. A young woman was in the section of glassware where I was, meticulously looking through various wineglasses. The young man with her looked tired and pissed off. He finally said to her, “Amy – FOR THE LOVE OF GOD – Can we go already?!!?” She looked around, somewhat embarrassed, and then said to me, “I’ll bet your husband doesn’t act like this, does he?”

I smiled at her slightly, but honestly replied, “You’re doing better than me actually – my husband won’t come with me to IKEA anymore.” Her husband smirked at her while she gave me that tight-lipped grin that basically said, “thanks a whole helluva lot.”

Upon my return home, I relayed this story to my husband who found deep satisfaction in knowing that he isn’t the only man who loathes a visit to IKEA.

CHRIS'S HELL ON EARTH

JUST ONE OF THE BOYS - PART TWO

A few days ago, I stood in Target looking around unfamiliarly in the “boy” aisle of toys. My sweet little soon-to-be four year old daughter is enamored with all things rough and tumble. I am ok with this - - it doesn’t bother me in the least that she isn’t what you would consider really girly-girl. Don’t get me wrong – Aleita does have some tendencies toward the female persuasion – she insists on being sprayed with her special strawberry body spray each morning, she loves to wear barrettes and hair thingies as often as possible, and she loves when she gets to wear a nightgown instead of regular pajama pants. However, when it comes to playtime, she definitely prefers to be just “one of the boys.”

As I have mentioned on my blog before, Aleita almost primarily plays with the boys at her daycare. When she mentions her best buddies at school, they are all boys. In fact, she has become something of the leader among the boys in her class. Unlike her older sister who developed an interest in all things Barbie by age three, Aleita could really care less for the ever-smiling, perpetually tippy-toed long-haired doll with the big boobs, skinny waist, expansive wardrobe, and unlimited career options. Of late, Aleita much prefers Power Rangers, Spiderman, cars, trains, and trucks – which lead me to my confused state in Target a few days ago.

I stood there simply overwhelmed in the boy toy aisle. I don’t have sons, and have always been a pretty girly-girl myself, so I was completely clueless. Aleita’s birthday is next week, but her birthday party is this Friday. I had already been to order her “Power Ranger” cake at Wal-Mart, then stopped by Target for a few things. Since I was at Target anyway, I hit the toy aisle in hope of some inspiration. I stood before the Power Ranger toys and realized that they all looked alike to me. I am sure that Chris would have known instantly exactly which Power Ranger figures she already had, but I simply had no idea. Instead of accidentally buying one that she already had, I settled on a Power Ranger headband that makes noises and in which she can change the color from red to green to yellow and back again.

Yesterday, I took Maggie birthday shopping for Aleita. She picked out some Power Ranger underpants in the little boys department (no, I am not kidding), a blue Power Ranger toy, and two Hot Wheels cars. It was difficult to hold Maggie’s interest long enough to really look carefully at the toys she was selecting for her sister. I too, actually had difficulty taking the time to look – they all just seem to be an assortment of colored plastic men with varying weapons to me. The moment she was done, she said, “can we go look at the Barbie aisle now?” I gladly let her roam down the pink aisle full of Barbies and dolls before we continued on our way. At least this aisle, I understand.