After Black Friday, it is time for Millie Noe to go shopping. And she does, with gusto and an excel spreadsheet.
But unfortunately, I, me, Millie Noe, do not excel at shopping.
I can't keep track of my cart.
I lose it three times per expedition.
Now, I never see other people hunting for their lost carts. Of course, I suppose they could be doing the same as I am and I just can't tell because they don't have a sign hanging around their neck that says, HAVE YOU SEEN MY FUCKING SHOPPING CART?
It always starts out just fine. But then right as I am filling in an excel square, I'll see something that might just work for Marques. Marques is not that easy to shop for. So, I run to the rack of attraction and I rifle through it and I hem and I haw and then out of the corner of my eye I spot hats and I have lots of hats on my excel spreadsheet.
"Oh, I think, J.Z. would wear that hat and Sven would like this one and D. might like that one."
After a short while, because this takes place in a matter of minutes, my arms start feeling the weight, so I turn around to add these new finds into the pile of gifts that I already have in the cart, and son of a bitch, there's no cart. So, I have to back track.
But I have no sense of direction or space or time.
"Um, let me see, I think I might have gone past those purses."
I head to the purses and snatch one up for Antoinette. Then I stumble into gloves. Rene always needs new gloves every year. He's thirty-three and he still could use those clip on things to hang them from his jacket sleeves. But never mind, he still loses his jackets too.
So, there I am trying to find the perfect pair for Rene's medium or large hands. I can never decide. All the while, I'm holding a stack of shirts and a couple of sweaters, a necklace, some earrings, a watch and a purse and I seriously wish I could have a drink of water and I wouldn't mind peeing either, but I can't do anything like that, because I don't even know where my cart is and you can't take your merchandise into the restroom.
After circling and circling and wishing that I had an available hand to loosen the scarf that I realize is wrapped tightly around my neck or at least unzip my jacket part way, I see it.
Hallelujah! I am overjoyed as I dump all the loot into it and I tug at my neck and feel the rush of cool, dry, big box store air, hitting the beads of perspiration on my skin.
But do learn anything?
No.
Because just then I see the world's cutest Crock-Pot sitting on a shelf. And I didn't even know that I liked Crock-Pots.
I rush over to it.
"I must have this."
Now, where there are Crock-Pots, there are lots of cool kitchenny things that every woman must have in order to entertain over the holidays.
So, I go for it.
I zig-zag my way through the home accessories department and pick up all of the very NECESSARY items that I will be putting on my charge card. I turn around and I have no ever loving cart. And then I see Packer apparel. So, I stuff a Green Bay Packer jersey for my grandson into the cute Crock-Pot under my arm and then I see Wisconsin Badger clothes, so I drape a pair of red sweat pants over my shoulder and I try with all my might to remember where I was last when I had a hold on that cart.
And then it hits me.
The Crock-Pot section.
I locate my not so faithful shopping companion and drop the new items on top of the rest of the stuff and continue with my so far, very successful shopping trip. And that adorable slow cooker is riding on top of the heap like a king.
I lose my cart again.
My rule is: Lose it once, it's a fluke. Lose it twice, it's a pattern. Lose it three times, it's fucking time to go home.
So after I locate it, I stroll over to the checkout lane with all the merchandise.
Now, this year I think I might have broken my record. I had the line backed all the way up to the Christmas lights section.
It wasn't my fault.
I swiped my store card and it wasn't approved.
The manager came over and he asked me to try it again. It should have worked. I have a V.I.P. card at this store.
He apologizes for the inconvenience and says, "Do you have any other way of paying for these three thousand items today, ma'am? I can still give you your discount."
So, I pull out my debit card and I swipe it. But, out of habit I select debit and as I am entering my pin number I recall that I had stopped for gas on my way there, and once the amount for the gas would be added in with the two hundred and eighty dollars at this store, I would exceed my debit card limit of three hundred and five dollars. I have to use credit on my debit, if it is more than three hundred and five dollars.
Sure enough. Not approved.
The girl behind the register puts her light back on and people are starting to bail out of our line and I can feel their eyes rolling.
"I am right here, people."
The manager returns and clears everything on the machine again and finally along with the help of the kid behind me drinking a Starbucks coffee, my transaction was complete. Except I needed one hundred and fifty gift receipts.
I head to the door, pushing the overloaded cart and I wish that I had peed an hour ago as I pass the restroom. But I had purchased too much stuff to just park outside the door for anybody and their mother to pick through and take whatever they like, while I do my business.
I walk outside and immediately realize that I have no idea which door I had come in.
The cart and I go left.
But we should have gone right.
Hours later I see the little black Kia across the way, on the other end. I carefully manage the cart to it without scratching any vehichles as I squeeze all of us between rows and rows of parked cars. This is something that I am proud to say, I am very good at.
And my first highly successful day of Christmas shopping was over.
I set the world's cutest Crock-Pot on my counter where it sat for the next three weeks. I was going to use it for the chowder parmesan soup, so, no need to put it away when I will just have to dig it out, in such a short time.
I make several more trips to several more stores, much like the one I just told you about.
Eventually my excel spreadsheet was all filled in.
Shopping was OVER.
I even had all the groceries bought.
I had dusted places in my house that no man had been before.
I'd wrapped presents every night on the living room floor while Sven loaded me up with Tom and Jerry's and kept Hunter, the world's worst gift wrapper, at bay.
All that is left is the food prep for tomorrow, because it is now the night before our family Christmas.
So, this is it.
I take the parmesan chowder soup off the stove to put into the cutest Crock-Pot
I smile.
I carefully pour the soup in and cheerfully wipe up all the splashes that are pretty much EVERYWHERE.
I return the cutest Crock-Pot to it's home away from the store, my counter, and I plug it in, right as Sven walks through the door from the outside.
"What the?" I say.
"What the what?" he says.
"There isn't a cord on this thing."
"Well, where is it?"
"How should I know?"
"Is it in the box?"
"I don't know."
"Where is the box?" he says.
"I have no idea. I don't remember a box."
This is when I whiteout with a little bit of pent up rage. "!@%%%%%&))$#@++&%$$#####!!!! @@@!!$ (((&^^^$%###@@####!!!! FFFF###@@@!!!!! )))&&&@#@####!!!$$$$!!!! FU@##!!"
"Millie, calm down."
"!@%%%%%&))$#@++&%$$#####!!!! @@@!!$ (((&^^^$%###@@####!!!! FFFF###@@@!!!!! )))&&&@#@####!!!$$$$!!!! FU@##!!"
I'm not even close to calming down. I'm stomping, I'm shouting, I'm screaming. I'm using so much profanity that I make the potty mouthed dick who used to sit next to me at work, seem like a nice guy.
I dump as much soup as I can from the world's cutest Crock-Pot into the world's ugliest Crock-Pot.
Hells bells, I am pissed.
I'm so pissed that I pick up the cutest Crock-Pot to take it out to the dumpster just, SO THAT I CAN THROW IT SOMEPLACE.
And that is when I see it.
"Sven. Look at this."
[one_half]
[/one_half]
[one_half_last]We both peer into a hole with a flashlight where the cord should have come out.[/one_half_last]
"This thing doesn't even have a motor in it.
"Millie, they don't have motors."
"Whatever!"
Well, Millie Noe proved once again that she has no business Christmas shopping.
Just above that hole there was a sticker.
Who buys a motor-less, display only, Crock-Pot?
MILLIE NOE.
I begin the hunt for the @3$%%%_)))&&&!! receipt, because my sweet Sven tells me that he will take this innocent, but stupid, Crock-Pot to the store and exchange it for another one in the morning.
But I couldn't find it on any of the receipts. Of course I don't have all of the receipts that I should have, at least not where I can find them.
"Well, where'd you buy it?" Sven says.
"Target. I'm sure it was Target. Unless...........it could have been Kohl's. I'm pretty sure it wasn't Menards or Shopko. I don't think."
"You don't remember where you bought it?"
"I can't even keep track of my cart, Sven."
"What?"
At any rate, Sven took that cute, soul-less Crock-pot into two different stores the next day to plead his case about the insane and incompetent wife who isn't supposed to be out in public on her own and had somehow escaped when he wasn't looking.
Although they tried their best to help my poor man out, they couldn't. Because neither store carried that particular Crock-Pot.
No. Of course they didn't carry it. A customer had taken the last one left in the world off the shelf, which was for display only.
So, Sven purchased a practical, black, crockpot, to save the day.
It worked just fine,
Everybody lived.
Now it's all over and I'm trying to figure out what to do with the cutest most useless Crock-Pot.
I'm not sure if I should throw it away. I mean the thing seems to be as rare as the spotted owl.
I'm also trying to locate the receipt for Rene's gloves while he is in Miami. I'm pretty sure they were from Kohl's. By the way, he takes large. In case you ever draw his name.
I now understand why the cute Crock-Pot was not on the receipt.
It's because it was for display.
And display Crock-Pots are free.
As they should be.
YOU CAN'T PLUG THEM IN.
