Friday I drove back north to see Kitten...who is some better, but still no where near OK. Anyway, she really needed to get out of the house for a little while as she's been trapped in the house all week storing up nuts in her cheeks and eating antibiotics.
We decided a little retail therapy was in order.
The last time Kitten and I went in Gordman's, I gave her a very stern warning about being careful with the cart so as not to break any of the millions of glass figurines perched precariously on the 20 foot high glass shelves they are so fond of.
"I'm comandeering this cart Miss Kitten," I said in the aforementioned stern way. "You are going to break something if I don't step in right now and prevent it."
Famous last words.
No sooner had I taken over operation of the cart than I backed right into one of those glass monstrosities.
As John Mellancamp said, "And the wall came tumbling down".
If you've never heard a million glass and ceramic things hit a tile floor all at once, you can't appreciate the sound such an event makes. It was like a retail sonic boom that drew the attention of every living thing in an eight mile radius.
I had no idea what to do, so I did what I thought would elicit the most sympathy from the Gordman's police. I stood looking confused and dazed and for extra effect, threw my hands in the air to demonstrate how shocked I was at the whole event.
Kitten helped me out by loudly saying, "Oh my gosh, Mom!" and laughing until she snorted.
Thankfully the cashier that finally spoke to me simply said, "Don't worry about it," and went back to her job. I crunched across the broken unicorns and snowmen and made a bee line to the registers before someone with more authority decided maybe I should worry about it.
I don't know how I managed to do it, but once I was safely away from the towering glass boobie traps, I turned to say something and damned if I didn't knock over yet another non-rubber doo-dilly which fell to it's knick knack death.
I quickly paid for what was in my cart and all but ran to my car, where Kitten and I laughed like insane women that had just pulled off a bank heist. It was all very Thelma and Louise.
I haven't been in Gordman's since. Until Friday, that is.
"Remember last time we were here?" Kitten asked.
Remember it, hell. I half expected to see a wanted poster of myself when I walked in the door.
We shopped and shopped and all was going very well until I saw a big, red Clearance sign in the vicinity of my last killing spree. I couldn't help but travel back into the forest of the giant glass and most definately breakable trees once again. After all, something over there was 50% off. There was no human way I could keep myself from it.
God as my witness, I don't know how it happened. I was minding my own business trying to decide if I had somewhere in my house to put the world's ugliest candle because it was marked down to $3.99, when like a Vietnam flash back, the whole tragic breaking stuff incident replayed in slow motion right before my eyes.
Coffee cups exploded on the ground like plastic explosives.
This time, I simply pretended I was both deaf and blind. "Crashing coffee cups? What crashing coffee cups?" I slowly strolled to find my daughter and explain to her why we needed to make a quick exit.
I could barely get the words out for laughing, which I believe is further evidence of a brain injury. I would expect a drool bib isn't far behind.
Disclaimer: If you work for Gordman's and have the authority to hunt me down like a dog and make me write you a big, fat check, this is a work of pure fiction. Think of me as the James Frey of bloggers.
You will be my one true love. All mushy, all good.
More pitiful Kitten pictures...
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