Yesterday, we went out for lunch at the King and I, formerly a venerable South Grand Siamese eatery that has moved very near to us. It was quite excellent and there was enough left over for lunch today. Fortified with sustenance we ventured into the holiday shopping fray. For us ground zero was Target. Or should I say Targeé? Dressing up its name like that is pretty much like putting lipstick on a pig. They did not have stick candles for our German Christmas Pyramid and their stock in electric lamps was crap.
What they did have plenty of were toys for the family’s new crop of boys. The ones that I found especially interesting were the electrified ones. The annoying ones that make sounds and have blinking lights. The ones sure to earn me the enmity of their parents. Do not worry though folks Anne was leading this parade, and she would brook no such nonsense. The best that I could do was secretly activate one of these monstrosities and then blame it on Anne when all of the other shoppers glared. Note to readers: do not take we with you when you go holiday shopping. I will only make a bad situation worse. We checked out with what booty that we could find, navigated the parking lot and were on our way home when I spied and foolishly suggested stopping at a high-end lighting store. Anne latched on to the idea so fast that I knew I was doomed.
Three hours later, new lamp in tow, we were on our way home again. Editor’s note: there may have been some sort of time dilation effect in play here. It was probably first triggered by the electric toys, but it turned worse when exposed to the modern haute-trash lighting fixtures. They were all of a kind, with too much chrome, glass, and price. I found myself reliving my childhood trauma, dragged my mother to fancy showroom after showroom, always looking, looking for something. Back then there were no divertissements other than fighting with my brothers, but that never ended well. This time I at least had my phone. Finally, Anne reappeared, lamp in hand, please with herself, ignorant of the repressed memories that she had unearthed.
