You Remember When …


DSC00382There is a well worn phrase or title for sure. This morning I had Valentine’s Day and my A-B-C’s on my mind.  I chose this subject matter.

The Valentine’s post can wait.

Here it comes, are you ready?

Warning: Contains nothing, absolutely nothing of literary value. As most of you already know.  My blog’s major thrust today shall be, complaining, guilt and regrets. I will try not to let good writing get in the way.

 You Remember When?”  Continue reading

FIFTY PERCENT OFF

It was bound to happen, just a matter of time.  My bride walked into the room and unceremoniously announced to no one in particular, “Take me shopping.”  So we loaded up in the old truck and drove the six miles to town.  She wanted to go to Kohl’s a department store in Yukon, Oklahoma.   After parking the truck we walked a short distance to the store, upon entering the store, immediately, she spots a garment (a blouse) hanging on a garment rack.

She walks over to it, feels of it, strokes it, appraises it from every angle, and then looks at me and says, “Whadya think.  Its 50% off.”  I look at it, it is nice, sheer, almost transparent the tag reads, $17.99 marked down from $36.00.  It is kind of blue and green in color, and as I said you can see right thru it, very much MY kind of blouse.

I say to her, “I dunno?” and kind of shrug my shoulders.

We move on, you see I know that I am here to drive the truck, my appraisal or value placed on any item in that store, means nothing.  I am now taken to the pots and pans, the stainless steel items that shine in the artificial sunshine of the store, with their clear lexan tops and bright polish.  We look at several, again, picking up a cookie pan that will produce almost magically 24 cup cakes, she says to me, “What do you think?” as if my input or opinion really mattered.

I again, “shrug my shoulders and silently wish that I had begged off back at the house when asked to volunteer for this mission.”

Things go well for the next ten minutes or so, and I make it all the way thru housewares without incident.  I am now in bath towels and fluffy stuff.  Then I see them.  Flashlights!

All manner of flashlights, on a rack, silver ones, red ones, blue Flashlights.  They are everywhere, so somewhat like a drunken sailor I saunter over to them and I feel them.  I admire them.  They have little buttons on them and the sign says …. “Try me.”

I look up and all of a sudden, she is nowhere to be seen, I am alone, just me and the Flashlights.

The Christmas muzak blares from the overhead speakers and I am magically transported to another time and another place.  Having left my cellphone home on the counter, there is no way I can locate her, and I am certainly not going to go on a search and rescue mission in a department store.

Slowly I gravitate towards the front of the store, the main entrance, and assume a position at the perfume counter.  Shifting one side of my body weight to the left shoe, I assume my position, by leaning back slowly into the counter and I check my watch.

The edge of the counter top starts to dig into my back, I shift my weight but another time, and I wonder how long it will be before I hook up with my little parsimonious shopper.

My mind slowly wanders off … Little beads of sweat form on my forehead and they roll down my cheeks and drop onto the Army Green container on the floor.  I take my trusty pocket tool, the red one, with the toothpick inside, and gingerly start to loosen one screw on the case, it breaks loose slowly and I feel it give way.  The red LED clock slowly clicks downward a second at a time.  I must get the access door off, and find a way to the inner core, to the explosive element that ignites the nuclear mass of the bomb itself or the weapon will explode, and all of mankind for five square miles will be toast.  The door slowly prys open with final screw and the main access panel is there, with all the wiring intact, which I by-pass and instead, go for the igniter of the weapon itself.  The Red LED clock is now getting insanely close to running out, and I am frantic.

I silently wish that I had a flashlight and curse under my breath ….

Then her voices breaks the silence, “Here you are.  Are you ready?”  I nod my head and she says, “I didn’t find nuthin’ you want to go get some Mexican food?”  Like a blind man, she takes my arm and starts to lead me toward the exit of the store.  “You didn’t find anything you liked either?”

Again, “I nod my head” and we start out for the front doors.

She again stops at the garment rack, and fingers the blouse, I can tell she really wants the blouse.  She pauses a little bit and then says.  “Let’s go.”  I say “Wait here and I will go get the truck, you won’t have to walk in the cold.”  On the way out to the parking lot the north wind takes a sharp bite out of the corner of my eye, and sends a shiver up my spine.  I get in the truck and I think to myself, “She never gets it?”

 

You see I might be sixty-five years old, but my LIbido is still very much in place.  I am a man, very much so, and thus, I am stimulated not by emotional things, but by visual items.  All she had to do was look at me with those big brown eyes, eyes a guy could get lost in, smile and say, “If you buy me this, I will model it for you without my bra.”

I would have bought it in a Hong Kong second …. Fifty-percent off or not.

OOO

Wounded Warriors

This weekend while out and about we had to make a trip to WalMart.  At the entrance to the store stood a young kid dressed in utilities, a Marine, with a donation box for Wounded Warriors.

We stopped and I spoke to him briefly and made a donation to the cause.  Young kid, had already been to Iraq and Afghanistan and it just didn’t seem possible to me, but it was.

I put some money in his box and then we went inside the store.

Later on I got to thinking about how sad this is.  We can spend all this money building bridges and roads in countries where they ride a ****ing donkey to town, but we have our returning soldiers at home begging for money.  Support they need for their families here at home, that have somehow been forgotten.

Something is not right with this picture.

These guys deserve our very best it is the least we can do.  Here is another site that is worthy of your attention, you can find numerous ways to help out a vet. the Internet is full of them.  These two in particular I found noteworthy, so I am passing them on.

Check out this one and cut them a check today.

The Serving Project.

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Inside the store, I go to the Men’s section, I need some new levi’s that do not have paint stains or grease spilled on them.  I look around for the changing room and to my surprise, there isn’t one.  Looking over in another section of the store I see that the women have a changing room, but nothing for the men.  So anywho, I need to know what the size of my pants are, so I go into the women’s changing room and lock the door.

I am in there about five minutes, figured out what I needed to know, and then I exit.

This sales lady (I think they call them WalMart Associates) looks at me rather startled and inquires, “Is everything alright?”  She cannot figure out what it is that I (A man!) is about coming out of HER fitting room.  I smile my best toothy smile and then I reply, “Well no, not actually.  There is something terribly wrong in there.”  And she says, “What might that be sir?” and I say, “The mirrors, all of them.  They make me look fat.”  I then walked off leaving a throughly confused looking WalMart Associate behind me.

At that time I went back to the men’s section for my new pants.

I bought four.

Now it is time to locate the wife.  She is of course, nowhere to be found and I instantly think of my cellphone which is lying on the counter in the kitchen some eight miles away.  Ah, the mobility of your own personal telephone.

Not being able to locate her, I notice an empty stool close to the registers.  So I sit down.

 

It is now important that you understand that this is the empty stool where sometimes the WalMart Greeter sits.  But he/she is not there, I am tired, I sit down.  Afterwords I discover that WalMart is now phasing out the Greeter altogether and will no longer use them, you can read about that here if you are so inclined.

Sitting in the empty chair and American phenomenon begins.  People immediately start saying things like:  “Are you on guard duty?” … “Can you tell me where I can find Dog-food?” … “I need some coconut water.” (now that was a toughie let me tell you)

So I answer them, “No I am not on Guard Duty, have you seen my wife?” and “It’s on the right down there about half way down.”  He says, “What aisle is it on, what is the number?” and I say, “I don’t know the number, half-way down, on the right.” so he says, “You don’t know nuthin.” and I reply, “Yeah?  I KNOW where the dog food is, whadya you know?” and the last one, “Can you tell me where the Coconut water can be found?”

I started to guess … Indonesia?  No I really did.  But then I just smiled, stood up and vacated the seat and smiled and replied, “Lady, I am sorry I don’t have a clue.”

Word of caution here.  Never, ever, if you are smart, sit in the Greeters Chair at Wally-World and by all means, keep track of your wife!

Saturday was a good day, I gladly would love to do it over again.

Semper Fi Mac!

OOO