My friend who works here and lives two states away called me this morning. She wanted me to go shopping with her today. She had a work Christmas party tonight, and she managed to bring down her formal jacket but not the actual dress it is supposed to complement. She had exhausted all options at the shopping center near her apartment, so we foolishly decided to try the mall.
Let me repeat, we went to the mall, a week and a half before Christmas. The crowds were intense, the merchandise clogged all the pathways in shops and between them, and for real, WHAT was that smell by the Santa area?? You know how stale and rank children's security blankets smell, because it is so hard to separate them from the children for the two hours it takes to wash and dry them? Imagine three or four dozen stinky security blankets all piled together, and add a little damp from it being a rainy day. I can't express how glad I was that we only breezed past it, and didn't have to stand in that smelly line.
I had been afraid that I was going to crack and buy a whole bunch of presents today. Instead, I found myself getting grumpier and grinchier, and as I looked at the teeming masses of people, I wondered, do I inhabit the same world as they? I am not interested in the items or the services that were being marketed today. I hated most of the clothes I saw, I don't like those little remote control helicopters, I can't digest food court "food," and I can't picture myself getting a henna tattoo in the corner of my eye, like the girl I saw today. I can't say a single person I saw today looked really happy. They all mostly looked stressed and annoyed. I'm sure I looked the same.
On the up side, my friend ended up going back and getting the dress I picked out for her from the very first display, in the very first store. I'm sure she had a great time at the office party. Me, I came home and had a little amaretto and egg nog, and wondered when every animal in the park went insane. I think I need something stronger, and they need a Christmas vacation.
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