The Life of Bon: Christmas Shopping

Monday, December 12, 2011

Christmas Shopping

First things first.  You need to know that today marks nine months exactly since Hubs and I tied that knot.  Had we conceived on our wedding night I would be birthing a baby today.  We did not conceive on our wedding night.  And I am not birthing a baby today.  But it's the thought that counts, and boy what a thought!  Just let that blow your mind for a minute. 

One of my favorites... is it weird that I LOVE all the goofy pics?
Next... this weekend I set out with mi madre to do a bit of Christmas shopping. 

The items on my Christmas list were as follows:
- Some new jeans (I am down to one pair that is wearable)
- Boots that I can wear to semi-formal events but that don't look like hooker boots
- A new dress.  Because every girl loves a pretty dress.

What?  When you go Christmas shopping it's not just for you?  Oh... I thought that's what everyone meant when they said they went Christmas shopping...

First and foremost, I dragged my mom into Forever 21 and begged her for two new pairs of skinny jeans.  She didn't put up much of fight.  There was a day when my mom vehemently opposed skinny jeans, but I guess somewhere along the way she realized there are worse things in life than a 25 year old daughter who wears skinny jeans on the weekend.



CrazyA accompanied us on our shopping excursion.  Her main job was to entertain my mom while I was in the dressing room.  She did so by shocking my mom with every outlandish and inappropriate thing that could possibly escape from her mouth.  To top it all off, CrazyA weasled her way under the dressing room door to watch me change while I yelled "get out of here you perv!" and my mom giggled from the other side of the door. The sales associate no doubt was trying to stop the whole thing, but what can you do when you turn around and a grown woman is crawling under the door trying to harrass her friend? Absolutely nothing.

Next stop was boots.  I knew exactly what I wanted.  Tan.  Knee High.  Zipper on the side. We found it without much of a problem.  And not just any zipper on the side, either, a RED zipper on the side. 

 I'm in love.  It's practically all I've been able to think about since we bought them.  I'm so obsessed that I think Hubs might be worrying that I am going to run away with these boots.  It's a valid concern.

Our last task was to find a dress.  This was the hardest of the three since not many stores sell dresses.  Our first stop was Macy's where the sales girl was a girl I taught at Timpview.  My how they grow.  It was slightly uncomfortable to have a former student pulling me dresses and coming in to check if everything was okay while I flaunted my white, hairy legs in dresses that were much too tight for me. I mean, I'll let my mom see that as much as she wants, but former students?  Yes.  Uncomfortable is a good word for it.

After several dresses we decided on one that was flattering and elegant.  It was an Audrey Hepburn type dress. 

Then my mom insisted on checking the tag.

Three awful words.

Dry clean only.

My mom absolutely refuses to buy any clothing that is dry clean only.  I insisted I would keep it clean, and it wasn't a big deal to run it to the dry cleaner every once in a while.  Mom didn't budge.  We wouldn't buy the dress.  It wasn't worth it.

At this point, I was burnt out.  Yes, all the shopping we were doing was for selfish little old me, but I was exhausted.  My mom, who has the shopping stamina of a stallion, was just warming up.  We stopped at another store and I tried on every dress there before we found one we both liked.  Not as cute as the Audrey Hepburn dress, but it would do.  I took it off and my mom went to pay.

Thirty seconds later she was back outside my dressing room.  "Bonnie.  You're never going to believe this.... but I checked the tag..."

Yep.

Dry clean only.

I was done done done at that point.  I put my jeans back on and decided that a Christmas dress would not be in the cards for me.  Mom on the other hand, was not ready to admit defeat.  She found another dress, the right size, not dry clean only, etc, etc.  The only catch was that I had to try it on.

I refused.

A girl can only try on so many dresses.

I realize how ridiculous this all sounds.  But please.

Pity me.

My mom bought the dress anyway.  My approval or no, the dress would be purchased and the item crossed off the list.

Moving on... Saturday was Hubs shopping day.  Hubs is getting a suit for Christmas.  I discovered during our shopping excusions this weekend that Hubs is much less picky than I am.  He liked all the suits.  Pinstripes, black, gray, he was just tickled pink with every suit we showed him.  He picked a suit easily, found the right size, and was on his merry way in a matter of minutes. That's why I married him, folks.  WHY I MARRIED HIM.

While my mom talked to a friend in the store, Hubs and I went to check out the pet department.  Yes, the pet department.  You see, there are quite a few dog lovers on Hubs side of the family, so we thought this department might lend itself to some easy Christmas shopping for us.  We looked at all sorts of pet paraphenelia:  bones, clothes, toys, beds, etc.

We had something all picked out when my mom came over to approve our purchase.

Of course... the infamous question....

"Did you check the tag?"

No, we hadn't.

"Spot clean only,"  mom read.  "No good.  You have to be able to put it in the washing machine."

And so the pet furniutre was left at the store. 

And we are left still wondering what to get certain people for Christmas.

Why do moms always have to remember to check the tags? 

Curse those washing instructions.

DON'T FORGET:  The Holiday Giveaway is going on now until Wednesday at 5:00.  To be entered simply follow this blog or post your favorite entry on your facebook wall.  If you do both, you get entered twice!

Who wants to win earrings?!?


1 comment:

  1. Totally have those boots! I am obsessed with them! They are so cute AND comfortable! Perfect for standing in all day! You are so stylin' Bonnie!

    ReplyDelete