Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)
Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.
This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.
Monday, February 16, 2004
When you are a suave, sophisticated, sort like me, you have to be very particular what sorts of pants you wear. Not just any old trousers will do. Which is why we were fortunate to be near the regional shopping giant, the Riverchase Galleria, because there, Pants of a Good Sort may be found. Because there’s a JCPenney right there at the mall! And JCP (as we high-toned types call it) just happens to be about the only place I have found around here that carries Haggar Heritage slacks.
This is important. You see, I am built somewhat oddly, something like a pyramid on stumps. This requires an inseam that is not quite in proportion to my waist size (which, in the so-called “normal” population, would require that my inside-leg measurement be approximately 72 inches long) and these particular pants are available in the appropriate size not only for my tiny little waddling legs, but also for my manly girthitude. BUT, that’s not all! Not only are these britches of the proper dimensions, but they are also free of the bane of all husky-sized men, the addition of pleats and cuffs. Good old plain front, no-cuffed slacks. Pleats only add to the horizontal massing of fabric, while cuffs make your stumps look even less lithe. FINALLY, they are constructed of a special polyester fiber that mimics the appearance of natural fibers to such an extent that in a black and white catalog photograph, they are virtually indistinguishable! (Depending on the light, of course.) Now while they might look like the most expensive wool gabardine on the planet (with your eyes closed) they do not require any care beyond an occasional fling in the washing machine and a tumble in the dryer, coming out looking the same as they went in. Except clean.
Truly, they are miraculous pants. And they were on SALE! AND REBA HAD A COUPON!
So, into the store we traipsed, straight to the Haggar display, where I joyfully picked not one, not two, but THREE pairs! Gray! And navy! And black! But that’s not all…it seems that while I was in pants heaven, Tiny Girl had set her sights on a coat. But not just ANY coat--I walked up to the rest of the crew, and Oldest nearly screamed at me that Cat had found a coat and IT COST $200! A waist-length, black rabbit fur model, with black suede trim. It was really a petite juniors coat, but it actually fit.
But, obviously, a no-go. Anyone who can tear up a steel ball with a rubber hammer is just not to be trusted with dead animal pelts. That was, until I was urged to look at the price tag--it was only $35. Trying to get rid of all the winter stuff, I suppose. Or it was only worth $35 to begin with. Either way, it was a nice coat, and she doesn’t have anything for church, and she had already started to hug it, and pat it, and squeeze it, and call it George. So, an early birthday present for her.
Onward then, back to the old home place, where it was time to visit K-Mart, where we purchased yet more Useful, Though Quickly Consumable Goods, and managed to find Little Bit yet another coat for $12 (to wear to school--I promise we don’t send her out the door naked, but she didn’t have a big coat with a hood, only a light fleece jacket.) A late supper at the fast junk food place, back home, get our purchases inside, then upstairs, and then…
The navy pair of pants was the wrong size. And not too big, which would have been just fine, but too small, which won’t work at all. I tried my best to make SURE I got the right ones, and told myself I had double-checked before we left, but I guess I overlooked it. ::sigh:: No time to exchange them on Sunday, so I got to make yet another trip into the same crappy, drizzly weather that I had started out the day in. I did make sure to call the store at Century Plaza first, though, just to make sure they did have my size, and to ask them to hold out a pair for me.
Got there, and the ladies in the department had no idea what I was talking about. Rather than just letting me go on and go find them myself, one girl took it on herself to hold me there while she called he other desk, the hold desk, the desk desk and every other doggone place looking for Mr. O’Gary’s pants. “Oglesby.” “Right--do you have a pair of Haggar pants over there for Mr. Ogigbee? Ogigsby? Umhm. He says about thirty minutes ago he called. Umhm.” She hung up, “They don’t seem to have them, sir.”
“Can’t I just go over there to the rack and and look?” Such stunning knowledge and foresight seemed to briefly addle her, but she recovered and allowed me to leave the desk and go hunting. One pair left. Whew. Took them back to the desk and got them swapped out, which only took TEN MINUTES. Them computers is great, you know.
Home then by way of the grocery store, where I had to purchase MORE stuff.
Baths for the kids, dry their hairs, clean out ears, spank them soundly, and put them to bed.
I then put myself to bed alongside Miss Reba, and though I requested it, could not convince my mate to spank me, soundly or otherwise.
Next: Endangering my Eternal Soul
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