December 21, 2005
I might have mentioned before that this year, Keith and I agreed to get each other just one present for each other at Christmas, since the focus is really more on the kids, and we don't want to spend excessive amounts of money on gifts, and so on and so forth. He wanted to know what I wanted for Christmas, and after some thought, I asked if he would take me shopping and buy me a new outfit.
I like going clothes shopping with Keith. He likes helping me pick stuff out, and he also likes the "fashion show" in the dressing room, and since he is the person I most often want to impress when I am dressing up to go out, I value his input. Although I have to say, a lot of the time it consists primarily of, "That skirt is too long. It should be shorter," or "What do you mean it's too revealing? That blouse isn't revealing ENOUGH!" But it is helpful having him there, and also usually very fun.
The reason I picked clothes as my present is because it is something I very rarely buy for myself. I don't like spending money on clothes for myself, because it seems frivolous and wasteful, especially because I don't have a job that requires me to get dressed up every day. However, I do like to have a nice assortment of good clothes for the occasions when I want to look nice and go out. So that's why I asked if Keith would buy me a new outfit for Christmas.
We did our shopping this morning while the kids were both at preschool. I picked out a long ruffly circle skirt; he picked out a shorter circle skirt. I picked out a sparkly sleeveless top; he picked out a sparkly sleeveless top with a plunging neckline. And so it went.
I did find a perfectly lovely outfit that I am very happy with, and because everything was on sale, Keith decided to splurge and get me both skirts instead of just one, and also a green top that will go with a black skirt I already have, that I can wear my green-and-black striped stockings with.
The only bad part was when we went to check out. The saleslady was wrestling with the little security tag thing, because the removal thingie (there must be official terms for these things, but I don't know what they are) wasn't working properly, and then all of a sudden she jumped back, startled, and there was a spray of blood all over the countertop. Apparently those security tags have a long, sharp pin inside them, and she somehow managed to stab herself on it. It was like CSI, man. There was blood spray everywhere. Unbelievably, she tried to continue helping us with a napkin pressed against her bleeding finger, but Keith told her that really it would be okay for her to go take care of herself, and after a brief pause, she did just that.
The other saleslady working the counter pulled some of that Purell hand sanitizer stuff out of her purse and proceeded to wipe up most of the mess with that and some Kleenex. Keith observed that if this had happened at his job, they probably would have had the bleach and hazmat gear out already, but I suppose Macy's isn't as serious about workplace safety as the post office is. Or maybe they just have a lower expectation that their employees are going to sever a finger in the course of their daily work. I don't know.
Anyway, we inspected all the clothes carefully for signs of blood, and on finding them clean and unsullied, we finished our purchase with the Purell hand sanitizer saleslady, who was highly apologetic about the whole thing.
Then Keith dropped me off back at the house so I could get some indexing done while he picked up the kids at preschool and took them to an outing at the science museum to give me time to work (it's his day off). As I was sitting here typing away, I heard this loud crash from downstairs. My brother-in-law is the only one home besides me, so I went to investigate in case he did a header down the stairs or something.
He was playing computer games in the basement, and when I asked if he was okay, he said he thought that loud crash was from me. (Although I notice he didn't come running to see if I'd fallen down the stairs or anything. Hmph.) We went investigating, and very rapidly discovered the source of the crashing sound: The Christmas tree was on its side on the living room floor, surrounded by a festive spray of broken glass and glitter.
I knew that damn tree wasn't going to make it until Christmas.
Anyway, after speechlessly staring at the tree in all its majestic fallen splendor for a minute or so, Dennis and I righted it as best we could. It actually looks somewhat less crooked now, so maybe it's more stable now. I hope so, anyway.
Most of the destroyed ornaments were the glass balls that we got for three bucks a box at Chubby & Tubby in Seattle several years ago, so that's no great loss. One of my Hallmark angels lost its wings, though, and another angel lost her trumpet, and a snowman lost his nose. And one of our Power Puff Girls lost her pigtail. However, I think all of those can be remedied with some superglue.
I am trying not to take the blood spray near my Christmas present, and the toppling of the Christmas tree, as bad omens. I am really, really trying. Really, really hard.
But I'm thinking about hanging an upside-down horseshoe over the front door, just in case.
Posted at December 21, 2005 12:16 PM