Sunday Snow Again

We're gearing up for White Christmas in the Northeast. A fine, heavy snow began falling around 8:00 a.m. and is predicted to go into the evening when it will turn into ice rain. Fun. So we have the whole day to sit inside and watch endless newscasts about Hussein's capture. One of the world's great tyrants, found hiding in a spider hole. Will it make a whit of difference on the terrorism in the world, or bring the death toll to a stop in Iraq? I don't see it happening.

Yesterday, knowing the forecast - and who can avoid it without 24/7 news show needing lots of filler, my sister and I ran to Bloomie's yesterday to shop.

Last year, I did 99% of my shopping online, and I don't think I went near a mall. This year there were certain items I didn't trust picking from a jpeg, so we decided to hit Bloomie's, mainly because it is a free-standing store with an open parking lot and we wouldn't have to snake our way up ramps and lose our car on AA 945 Aqua.

The minute we went in, we were waylaid by the clothes department. (Clever placement near the front door). We tried on fantasy suits by designers and bemoaned our wardrobes. I convinced sister to purchase the Anne Klein red jacket I couldn't afford, and I tried on a knit jacket with leather trim several times until I decided it make me look like Donna Reed instead of Donatella Versace and put it back.

We refocused and got a couple of gifts, and then we searched for the elvators when we got a whiff of that smell that can only be described as "New York Hot Dog". Sure enough, Bloomies, for some unfathomable reason, had a Sabrett's cart set up in the middle of the store. And there was quite a line. We decided to take the safer gastrointestinal route of the yogurt counter upstairs where the harried waitress shouted at us and we ordered and ate quickly. Fortified, we wandered through jewelry and cosmetics before refocusing and getting the rest of the items on my list. Good thing, because a fire alarm went off just as I was paying and the sales help wandered around asking whether they should ignore it or herd people out. As half of us made our way to the exits and the other half blithely ignored the clanging bell and strobe lights, the fire engines could be heard roaring up. (Note to self: do not seek harbor in a Bloomingdales' during next terrorist attack.)

My head was swimming by the time I got home, as my mother likes to say. Going into a department store is subjecting yourself to the reality that nothing you own is current, fashionable, or in good taste. And more importantly, that you do not have the money and never will to do anything about it. Or so it seems. My general feelings were simultaneously that of inadequacy and lust. An Anne Klein naby blue suit with white leather trim! An Armani leather jacket with fur collar! David Yurman jewelry! I just kept picturing the American Express bill and I was able to resist. Thank God I work in the boonies and our lunch time shopping is limited to a Walgreens.

I discovered that I do need a little bit of Christmas crowds, jostling in line at the register, walking across the store for boxes with shopping bags digging into my hands, sweat pouring off my forehead, and feet killing me, in order to feel like it really is Christmas. And today I'd really rather go back then wrap all the items stuffed under my bed, but the weather is helping me avoid bankruptcy.

Anyone want to rent a four by four and take me back today?