Denial

All right, evidently my writing forces were not finished for the evening. So here, I'm back, dearest mind......what is it you felt the need to keep typing?? Don't know?? Hark the inner voice goes silent. Hmmm, alrighty then. Sudden writers block. Words with meaning, yes, that usually does the trick.

Tousled, that comes to mind. 6 am shopping can do that to a person. Hair up, no make-up, Adidas sweat pants, slippers, pocket full of cash.

Charlatan, Stores that advertise great deals, con us hopefuls into an early morning rise, with hopes of scoring the ONE solitary item you held in stock. Ohh yes, I see it now down there in that tiny print <each store guarantee's we will hold one such great priced item in stock, sucks to be the rest of you! but while your here buy these other high priced items>

Operator, I traded in my safe "mommy" driving the cart card, in for a Mother on a mission demolition license. I figured if everyone else was going to use their shopping carts for modern day Gladiator tactics, why shouldn't I?? It really was a test of the fittest, a survivor story, eat or be eaten kind of scenario. I would never exaggerate something like this :o)

Eloquence, that which is lacking in customer service. Need I say More? If you hate answering questions, dealing with people then I would say move on, new job, be nice. I can understand someone 2 minutes ago may have been rude, even yelled at you, was unreasonable, etc etc.....but well, I'm just an innocent Mommy in search of the all illusive "I'm going to just die if I don't get it" present. We both feel pressure, if we both smile, use our cart to knock those "other" rude people out of the way were both winners :o)

Commiserate, the understanding and interesting conversations that are bound to happen when you wait in line for more then 30 minutes. Compassion in the eye's of us weary shoppers, a bonding that canonly surface the morning after Thanksgiving shopping.

Impoverished, the general feeling after returning home to find you have purchased half the things you needed and your pocket book has imposed a temporary lock down.

Tradition, Why I put myself through this torture every year. A time honored, from Mother to Mother fable. As soon as I was inducted into Motherhood, I was invited to join this tradition and enjoy it or not, I am there, every year, with the other Mothers in my family, shopping, spending, laughing, smiling, running, crashing, did I mention SPENDING, and having a relatively great time creating memories with the clan.

All right All right, this is a journal, your supposed to be honest to the core. I fess up. It wasn't writers inspiration that brought me back to the computer. It was denial. Denial of the fact there is a pile of presents the size of Mt. Everestt sitting in my living room, waiting to be wrapped and hidden from the searchers who will be lurking through the house tomorrow. Little eye's seeking hidden clues, glimpses, a patch of wrapping paper peaking out from somewhere. Proof Mom indeed participated in the yearly tradition!