I decided to head into Athens and buy some Christmas things. If you know me, you know this is a sacrifice. I hate using gas. I hate stores. I hate spending money.
But into the city I went, intending to buy an organizer thingie for my postage stamp bathroom since my two drawers of storage space are now filled. With cold medicines, I might add.
So I went at noon on a weekday hoping to avoid merry hi-ho-ho shoppers, & I trundled my red plastic Target cart right to the organizr aisles. Upon seeing the cheapest item they had in aforementioned aisles, I almost fell down in shock. $30 for a two-shelves plastic crap? No way.
I tried, honest I did. I even looked at the behind-the door hanging shoe tree organizer, mulling creative possibilities but in the end I couldn’t bring myself to spend money for crap. And of the three drawer bureau that had cool brown baskets for drawers…well, that was $70. Too much.
I will be honest, I did buy a shirt for $5. I think it is a woman’s duty, whenever and wherever she finds new clothing that isn’t heinous and fits reasonably well, and is $5 or less, to buy it. So I did my duty. Passing by the Christmas card aisle, I thought, why not buy one for my pastor? I already sent him religious one, a serious, appropriate card with actual scripture on it. There was a huge sign advertising “FUNNY CHRISTMAS CARDS.” He’s a person too and maybe he would like a humorous Christmas card as well?! So I browsed.
Me and another lady spent a lot of time reading all the cards. We were both methodical, something I appreciated about her. We read them in order, from left to right, and right to left, and when we were shoulder to shoulder, we swapped. After jamming yet another unfunny card back into the slot, I looked at her and said, “These aren’t funny.” “No, they’re not,” she replied. We both shook our heads mournfully. “I’m buying one for my boss,” She said. “I’m looking for my pastor.” After a second I said, “The person who writes these should be fired.” “Yup,” she said. “They’re bad.”
See, the punchline to most of them either contained a four letter word (asshole, shit), a reference to farts, poop, or certain body parts. Like, Santa is in his sleigh…and here comes the guffaws, the last reindeer farts and Santa’s fart-o-meter goes off the charts. Howl! Or this, The snowman has an extra long carrot for a nose and well…Or this, Santa was arrested and the card’s front cover is a mug shot of disheveled Santa, because, you see, he breaks and enters and peeps. One of the cards called the mom a whore. Hilarious! And here is the real punchline, the next section over was the “Naughty & Nice” Christmas Cards, complete with protective border. Holy Reindeer fart, batman! What would THOSE cards say? The lady and I left with no cards.
I am genetically engineered to not be able to pass by a Borders without stopping in. As I pushed open the doubledoors I immediately became calm. Ah, sanity. I make a great production every year of getting my calendar for the year and a new date book. I have to live with it for a year, and look at it every day so I can’t make a mistake. This year was different, I decided right away. I got a small/mini wall calendar (I have two rooms remember) of scenes from Tuscany (ahhh), and I skipped the datebook because they didn’t have refillable ones and the non-refillable ones all had Islamic holidays on practically every square. Sorry, I’m not Muslim.
Instead I got a sweet beaded journal and the selling point (aside from the girly bling on the cover) was the fact that the paper inside is super duper thick and luxe. CS Lewis’s “Screwtape Letters” completed the trifecta and off I drove into the late afternoon sunset.