God help me, I'm just back from back to school shopping. As if the sticker shock wasn't bad enough, we had to eat at McDonalds (this is called bribery) and listen to Project Pat full blast in the car (this is called I love my son.) My head hurts and I spent waaaaaaaaay too much money on:
1 backpack, the cheapest one, since he'll lose it. Black. All black. With a million unnecessary pockets that will never be used.
3 pairs of jeans "They fit fine, Mom, can we leave now?" "Can I see you in them?" "No."
5 T-shirts with absolutely nothing on them - "No pockets, no writing, nothing. Black and white only."
A bag of socks that the dog will soon eat.
Underwear about which I shall not blog lest my son ever, ever find out.
A $10 binder that will fall apart by October.
Filler paper, that I practically had to mug some other parents to get to, since it was almost gone.
2 spiral notebooks.
A thing of pens and a thing of pencils.
A belt.
Mom got herself some camisoles since she always needs them and a plain black button down shirt. And a 97 cent purple plastic compass about which, actually, she is chuffed. I seem to always need a compass. Mom's head hurts and she's drinking a much needed beer. The whole shopping interlude was interspersed with a visit to Gramma's, cheerful as always, in which she contemplated how much money we'd all have now if only my father had invested $1000 with Warren Buffet in 1950, how the world is ending by drought, plague and sorrow and how evil corporations are destroying us all. My son and mother, when I can get them together, get along famously, as you can tell. It's just so, you know, uplifting and fun, fun, fun around my family.
However, I did manage to steal back the glass french press that my mother stole back from me in May. This is good since my coffee machine died last week and since then I've been making coffee by boiling the coffee and water in one saucepan and then pouring it gently through a coffee filter in a colander on top of another, larger saucepan. This works but is way too labor intensive for every day use. Way.
Oh, and then when I got home? The dogs had eaten my favorite shorts, my black bermuda shorts. Ate the entire goddamn crotch out. Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
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2 comments:
I kinda like 'Great Googly Moogly.'
I am mildly baffled, J, but I think possibly you are protesting my language? My use of fine old Anglo Saxon terms for sexual intercourse and faeces? My sacrilegious interpolation of those phrases with the glorious nomenclature enjoyed by Our Lord? Is that the issue?
Sorry, man. It's true. Fucking cursing has, like, totally fucked my goddamn shitsucking cockgobbling vocabulary all the goddamn hell up. Christ on a crutch.
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