It is Saturday morning, it is still dark inside and out, and I am sitting here thinking things like, “Ahh, it is quiet.” Working in a mall just before Christmas is not conducive to creative thinking- but venting, yes!
. . . . .
On Thursday, an eighteen year old wearing super tight jeans, Uggs, and a sweat shirt with something on it in sparkly letters about the color Pink came up and I said something generic and friendly about letting me know if she needed any help finding the perfect gift… And without making eye contact, she answered. “Thanks, honey.”
Either she thought I was the maid, or you know, there is no reason to always be so negative- maybe she thought I was seventeen ( thank you argan oil!). Obviously, I couldn’t give the latter thought much weight and I got to stew all day about the nerve of some kid calling me honey. Then later that night while we waited for Elisa’s Christmas Concert at school to begin, which was very sweet by the way, Billy and I followed the line of class photos from years past, looking for people we know. We were standing under what would have been my year, checking out the extremely big hair, and a guy came up and asked if we were in the photos. “No, we didn’t live here then. We’re just looking for friends,” we explained. So he pointed out his son and asked who we knew. I pointed to one person, nearly my age. And he asked, “Is she your mother?” Really?
Billy thought the guy was, “a couple of logs short of a cord.” Or, as I pointed out to my dear husband, the other obvious option was that I look as if I was seventeen. My family quickly said, “Uh, no,” but that didn’t keep me from enjoying five seconds of gloating (thank you argan oil).
. . . . .
The sun is up now and there is enough light to see that there are more dishes to be done. Outside it is snowing. House work or walk?