LJI S9.6, Step on a Crack
(The ALMOST entry! In other words, I didn't finish it in time.)
On Sunday morning, the nefarious Lizbeth lured myself and the girlitas out of bed with promises of breakfast from Taco Bell. (Yes, I know, I also formerly classified Taco Bell food as the best non-narcotic solution to constipation ever created by humankind, but the Crunchwrap™ things are actually very yummy!) Unfortunately, as the religiously astute among you will have already deduced, this past Sunday was Easter, and Taco Bell, recent menu augmentations and breakfast fanfare be damned, was closed until noon.
Gathering up my shattered dreams, I suggested, "Why don't we eat breakfast at Morelia?"
Because this restaurant was a family favorite, I naively expected that everyone would be pleased with my most excellent proposal. Alas, although the lady wife and eldest daughter immediately concurred, young Amanda strongly objected.
"I didn't think we would be getting out of the car!" she wailed. "I'm wearing pajama bottoms, and look totally ratchet. I'm not going inside!" (For the uninitiated, ratchet in this tween/teen context means wretched.)
"Oh, come on," Sarah, the elder sister, encouraged, "it's early on a Sunday morning, the place'll be empty."
I personally thought Sarah's prediction was rather unlikely, since if there's one thing most people like to do after church it's eat, but apparently we had arrived just early enough to avoid the reverent rush of after church humanity. I sat next to Sarah, and Lizbeth sat by Amanda, shielding the shamefully-clad-pajama-wearing-ratchet-child from view.
Once the breakfast bill was paid, I asked Lizbeth, "What's next on the itinerary?"
"We're going home," Amanda stated firmly.
"Actually," sweet Lizbeth corrected, " I'd like to see if Home Depot has any rugs we can use in our bedroom."
For some of us, the word spring is associated with cleaning. For others, it will forever be linked with the blossoming of growing things. For Lizbeth, the season has inexplicably become synonymous with interior design, or as in this case, redesign.
"Mommy!" Amanda cried, horrified visions of fashion police with ratchet wrenches haunting both syllables.
I too had misgivings, although my ghost tormenters weren't wearing tool belts. The previous day's numerous expeditions had been based around a similar decorationist theme, and I wasn't eager to repeat the experience. Still, my belly was full, and however ratchet (see, it grows on you) the prospect of another day's shopping made me feel, upon reflection, I decided that it had to beat vacuuming bedrooms and cleaning toilets. Thus overruled by an ornamentationist mommy, lethargic daddy, and indifferent sibling, Amanda trailed us to the car, bemoaning her lack of fashion with every step.
Home Depot, we found, had a fairly large selection of rugs, mounted on hinged metal racks that could be flipped through like woven pages in an improbably massive, not to mention overpriced, book. Alas, very few of the colors and patterns were to Lizbeth's taste, resulting in somewhat rapid page turning. Even when a particular page was deemed to be satisfactory both to the Blind husband's touch and the lady wife's eyes, it was never available in the desired size or shape.
"You should try Garden Ridge," a passing sales lady advised. "They have piles of rugs on display as soon as you walk in the door," she continued gleefully, "although it's definitely a two person job to go through them all."
"But look at this rug," I quickly interjected, thumping one of the rare selections of marginal acceptance, "it's beautiful, and today Home Depot is offering a half-price Easter special."
"Huh," the sales lady addressed herself to Lizbeth, "he's obviously full of crap!"
The nerve of some people!
When we arrived at Garden Ridge, we did yea verily discover countless piles of rugs, as well as other... Stuff. Lizbeth almost immediately found a fabulous specimen containing not only a marvelous pattern, but beautiful colors as well. The youngest child, apparently forgetting her previously underdressed state, had vanished, but Sarah and I stroked its pelt, and made appropriate appreciative noises.
The lady wife then began a tedious search for identically patterned, but smaller, rugs. Sarah's help was enlisted, but no smaller rugs were located. A salesperson's help was also enlisted, but his contribution consisted of the advice, "There should be some smaller rugs in the size you want passed those trees. In a couple of days, we'll have them all better organized."
When Amanda finally reappeared, she agreed to be conscripted into Lizbeth's widening search, but there was a condition.
"Can I have this bucket?" she requested, brandishing a huge metal container in front of us.
"What on Earth do you want that for?" I asked. "It's huge!"
"A trash can," she responded.
"Yeah," Sarah agreed, laughing, "you should totally get it for her. She can use it to wash those pee blankets that come out of Kelly's dog crate."
Now, I'd like it known that I am well aware of what a proper parental response would have been. As Amanda's father, it is my role, some would even say my responsibility, to step on Sarah's wisecrack, and protect her feelings.
What was my response?
I lifted my right hand, and began stirring an imaginary cauldron full of dog blankets. "Boil, boil, toil and trouble," I intoned. "Stir the Kelly pee, and watch it bubble."
Lizbeth did finally locate identically patterned rugs of a lesser size, although it took an additional journey to yet another Garden Ridge. Although Amanda did obtain a few items for her bedroom, as well as a book she wanted, the bucket, phantom blankets and all, was left behind.
As for me, next weekend, I just want to sleep in.
Dan
Crossposted from Dreamwidth
On Sunday morning, the nefarious Lizbeth lured myself and the girlitas out of bed with promises of breakfast from Taco Bell. (Yes, I know, I also formerly classified Taco Bell food as the best non-narcotic solution to constipation ever created by humankind, but the Crunchwrap™ things are actually very yummy!) Unfortunately, as the religiously astute among you will have already deduced, this past Sunday was Easter, and Taco Bell, recent menu augmentations and breakfast fanfare be damned, was closed until noon.
Gathering up my shattered dreams, I suggested, "Why don't we eat breakfast at Morelia?"
Because this restaurant was a family favorite, I naively expected that everyone would be pleased with my most excellent proposal. Alas, although the lady wife and eldest daughter immediately concurred, young Amanda strongly objected.
"I didn't think we would be getting out of the car!" she wailed. "I'm wearing pajama bottoms, and look totally ratchet. I'm not going inside!" (For the uninitiated, ratchet in this tween/teen context means wretched.)
"Oh, come on," Sarah, the elder sister, encouraged, "it's early on a Sunday morning, the place'll be empty."
I personally thought Sarah's prediction was rather unlikely, since if there's one thing most people like to do after church it's eat, but apparently we had arrived just early enough to avoid the reverent rush of after church humanity. I sat next to Sarah, and Lizbeth sat by Amanda, shielding the shamefully-clad-pajama-wearing-ratchet-child from view.
Once the breakfast bill was paid, I asked Lizbeth, "What's next on the itinerary?"
"We're going home," Amanda stated firmly.
"Actually," sweet Lizbeth corrected, " I'd like to see if Home Depot has any rugs we can use in our bedroom."
For some of us, the word spring is associated with cleaning. For others, it will forever be linked with the blossoming of growing things. For Lizbeth, the season has inexplicably become synonymous with interior design, or as in this case, redesign.
"Mommy!" Amanda cried, horrified visions of fashion police with ratchet wrenches haunting both syllables.
I too had misgivings, although my ghost tormenters weren't wearing tool belts. The previous day's numerous expeditions had been based around a similar decorationist theme, and I wasn't eager to repeat the experience. Still, my belly was full, and however ratchet (see, it grows on you) the prospect of another day's shopping made me feel, upon reflection, I decided that it had to beat vacuuming bedrooms and cleaning toilets. Thus overruled by an ornamentationist mommy, lethargic daddy, and indifferent sibling, Amanda trailed us to the car, bemoaning her lack of fashion with every step.
Home Depot, we found, had a fairly large selection of rugs, mounted on hinged metal racks that could be flipped through like woven pages in an improbably massive, not to mention overpriced, book. Alas, very few of the colors and patterns were to Lizbeth's taste, resulting in somewhat rapid page turning. Even when a particular page was deemed to be satisfactory both to the Blind husband's touch and the lady wife's eyes, it was never available in the desired size or shape.
"You should try Garden Ridge," a passing sales lady advised. "They have piles of rugs on display as soon as you walk in the door," she continued gleefully, "although it's definitely a two person job to go through them all."
"But look at this rug," I quickly interjected, thumping one of the rare selections of marginal acceptance, "it's beautiful, and today Home Depot is offering a half-price Easter special."
"Huh," the sales lady addressed herself to Lizbeth, "he's obviously full of crap!"
The nerve of some people!
When we arrived at Garden Ridge, we did yea verily discover countless piles of rugs, as well as other... Stuff. Lizbeth almost immediately found a fabulous specimen containing not only a marvelous pattern, but beautiful colors as well. The youngest child, apparently forgetting her previously underdressed state, had vanished, but Sarah and I stroked its pelt, and made appropriate appreciative noises.
The lady wife then began a tedious search for identically patterned, but smaller, rugs. Sarah's help was enlisted, but no smaller rugs were located. A salesperson's help was also enlisted, but his contribution consisted of the advice, "There should be some smaller rugs in the size you want passed those trees. In a couple of days, we'll have them all better organized."
When Amanda finally reappeared, she agreed to be conscripted into Lizbeth's widening search, but there was a condition.
"Can I have this bucket?" she requested, brandishing a huge metal container in front of us.
"What on Earth do you want that for?" I asked. "It's huge!"
"A trash can," she responded.
"Yeah," Sarah agreed, laughing, "you should totally get it for her. She can use it to wash those pee blankets that come out of Kelly's dog crate."
Now, I'd like it known that I am well aware of what a proper parental response would have been. As Amanda's father, it is my role, some would even say my responsibility, to step on Sarah's wisecrack, and protect her feelings.
What was my response?
I lifted my right hand, and began stirring an imaginary cauldron full of dog blankets. "Boil, boil, toil and trouble," I intoned. "Stir the Kelly pee, and watch it bubble."
Lizbeth did finally locate identically patterned rugs of a lesser size, although it took an additional journey to yet another Garden Ridge. Although Amanda did obtain a few items for her bedroom, as well as a book she wanted, the bucket, phantom blankets and all, was left behind.
As for me, next weekend, I just want to sleep in.
Dan
Crossposted from Dreamwidth