I know it has been a while since I have posted. I also know that because of that fact you are thinking either or both of two things: 1) I have no idea when to use "a while" and when to use "awhile" - or if "awhile" is even a word and 2) During my absence I must not have been annoyed by anything. As for bullet #1, you are totally right, but as for bullet #2, you could not be more wrong. Or, as Ms. Chanandler Bong would say, "You could not be more wrong." Really, there is just not enough of Miss Chanandler Bong, is there? You know, to tell you how gum would be perfection.
So here is my latest concern, for your consideration. We need to loosen up our liquor license laws. Yes, yes, I know people complain that establishments with liquor licenses draw rowdy crowds that make noise and keep the local residents awake until the wee hours and that when those same residents stumble out their front doors the next morning, eyes bleary from lack of sleep, they are immediately greeted with the human excretions the previous evening's imbibers have less than thoughtfully left behind. But that is what happens when liquor licenses are granted to restaurants or clubs. That is not the type of institution of which I speak.
I speak of children's shoe stores. Now, I don't know what the children's shoe stores are like where you live. Perhaps when you enter a children's shoe store, a salesperson approaches you and offers his or her immediate assistance. Perhaps he or she gently suggests a pair of reasonably priced shoes for your child, shoes that don't in fact cost more than those you buy for your own non size-changing feet. Perhaps these shoes don't boast neon lights that flash so aggressively that you are fairly certain they will, at worst, trigger seizures or, at best, cause a loss of between 5 and 10 badly needed IQ points. Perhaps you exit that store in under 3 hours, with neither you nor your children in tears.
I do know what children's shoe stores are like where I live. They put the 'angry' in angryNYCchick. Can you get immediate assistance in a children's shoe store in NYC? Oh, honey, no. You must put your child's name down on a waiting list. To see a children's shoe salesman. To hand over your hard earned money to the store. Write that child's name clearly or you risk its being mangled when it is at long lost shouted across the store. You won't recognize your child's name being announced will be back at the end of the line. And if your kid has one of the more popular names, don't dare write her real name on the list or be prepared to see another parent jump up and steal your spot when they hear "Sophia!" called out. They can't help themselves; like you, they are at the beginning of what they know will be a long and painful odyssey and one that will not end well.
Now, a little wine bar in the corner is really all I ask. Sure, it would be nice if you had several wines to select from, some decent stemware, and maybe some nice cheese and hearty crackers. But really, I am saying that just a card table, a box of no-name wine, and some red solo cups and truly we are good to go. Here's how it works. You walk in, you get your plastic tumbler of whatever is in the box, you take a quick gulp and you head over to the sign-in sheet. Now when you look down and see 7 Jacobs and 6 Avas ahead of your Phoebe, you just shrug and take another swig - and try to stifle the involuntary shudder from that burning sensation you get upon swallowing.
Before you can even begin to look for a reasonably priced pair of shoes you that does not sear your eyes with its shameless gaudiness, a pair that might actually match something in your child's wardrome, she is already running around the store grabbing every blinking, pepto bismol pink, crystal-adorned, chiffon-laced shoe/sneaker/boot/maryjane (I have girls) she can reach and trying to jam her foot in it, while yelling across the store "How about this one? And this one? They fit perfectlyl! I neeeeed them!!" If you think of this experience as similar to a game of the type you may have played at an earlier, child-free stage of your life, you will know how to proceed. Every time your beloved expresses a desire, nay a neeeed for a shoe, take a sip. Hmmm, that after-burn seems to have diminished just a bit.
Keep this up through the shoe sizing, when you are told your child has prodigiously jumped a full size in the last 3 weeks. You get an extra three sips if the salesman also informs you that your child straddles two wholly difference sizes and you will have to buy a full two pair; that's four shoes to shod your child's two feet, and you deserve a sip per shoe.
I think you know how the rest of this trip to the shoe store goes... Your kid turns out to have such narrow feet that she wear only a single brand of French, even more inordinately overpriced shoes than you thought you were going to have to purchase (I'm two for two on this score)? Sip. Your 6-year old is on the floor, arms and legs flailing, screaming that she cannot do the birthday party circuit in anything less than 3 inch heels? Sip. Hmmm... what type of wine is this? Can one purchase a box for home consumption?
One last thought. Don't leave that red solo cup behind when you exit the store. Don't make the rookie mistake of thinking that because you have completed your purchase the fun is over. If your child was given a balloon during his visit, it is a certainty that in the next ten minutes that balloon will 1) hit a pedestrian(s) in the face 2) be released into the wild blue yonder as soon as the store is out of view 3) both. You'll want to have that wine at the ready. I am all but certain this is what those stroller cup holders are made for. Or flasks. Your call, really.
No comments:
Post a Comment