I was on a mission today to get the girls Easter dresses. I had a plan that looked like this:
But that plan was quickly derailed by this interaction with my dearest husband.
Me [eyeing said coordinated family lustily on the computer]
Tim[walks up behind me]: No.
Tim: No way.
Me: But is there any...
I didn't even try the iron-clad logic that the sweater vest was very Santorum-esque. With Plan A in the proverbial crapper, I was forced to go shopping with the girls, bearers of far too many opinions about fashion these days anyway.
We set out to Belk and I let them loose in the girls department. It was very quickly clear that this was going to be trouble. I wanted children who were dressed for the Club's Easter egg hunt, they were apparently planning on running away and joining the Ice Capades, or so their choices in dresses would imply.
They tried this on in several colors:
Sadly, this picture doesn't do it justice. You miss the entire sparkly-glittery-Vegas kind of material of which it is constructed. After several fitting room sessions, we found a suitable dress that pleased all. As a bonus, they had a version with pink flowers and one with blue so each girl could have their favorite color and they could still match. [As an aside, I didn't tell them they had to match. I had freed them of this requirement but years of matching has hard-wired the desire in their heads.]
We then went on a fruitless search for shoes. I would venture to say there is nary a town in the entirety of the United States that has such a dismal shoe selection for young girls. And don't give that Cobbler's Wife line. I am too cheep to buy MY shoes there. Not a chance I am buying shoes that will be worn only a couple of times for my kids in that price range.
We were also seeking an Eion outfit. He is actually rather easy to please. To fit, now that is a different story. We found a seersucker suit (too big) and a tan suit (sadly, not available in slim so also too big) but located zero appropriate gear.
After many a stop, which left us all feeling rather disheartened, we returned home (nearly) empty handed.
And starving. The good news was I had put some ribs in the sous vide and they would be piping hot and ready to eat. Theoretically. In practice, I forgot to press start after I placed the ribs in the water which meant they had been hanging out at room temperature for several hours, rendering them not only not ready for dinner but a veritable breeding ground for food-borne illness.
In the immortal words of Cartman from South Park, fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck, a phrase I managed not to say aloud.
We rallied and had some leftovers, though who knows what I am going to feed Tim when he gets home from work. Hopefully, he's not very hungry.
What I really want to do is curl up in my evening clothes. Everything is made better by the kittens-in-mittens robe, right?
Except my poor robe fell victim to a malfunctioning heating pad I was using on my sore back, it really sucks getting old, and it now has a burn on the back that resembles a cigarette burn. While I am pleased the heating pad that was on its way to flaming did not harm me, I really resent that my beloved robe now has moved from cute to rather white trashy.
What the hell, as long as I am complaining about the mundane irritants I have bravely faced down today, let's add that I found this posted at my crazy neighbor's house:
That is my bat-shit crazy neighbor's response to her dog biting Maggie on the foot. [She's ok - thick footwear protected her from harm.] Which I guess would be great if the dog was not chasing my children out of the cul de sac on a regular basis. I am pretty sure us staying off her property won't fix that.
But seriously, she has her house up for sale and posted this. Not smart lady, who incidentally used to be a realtor. You are alerting all potential buyers to the fact that one of the following things is true: either you are completely nuts OR your neighbor is. Neither of which I think are good selling points. There is a reason she is a former realtor I suppose. Best yet is her dog, bite-y mcbiterson, is still running free and without a leash, seen just today harassing another neighbor in their own yard.
Wait a just a darn minute, I think I am feeling better. Previously, I failed to realized the important role my newly trashified robe is going play in dealing with such gems as my dog-running-loose-psycho neighbor. It will make me perfectly dressed for our future run ins.
From the land of the First World Problems, I bid you au revoir.