“I Like a Good Rant” Wednesday
How Mom’s Indecision Could Change History
Since I'm frazzled, making decisions, even small ones, paralyzes me. However, I’m quite talented at making decisions for friends.
At the mall a friend asked me which running shoes she should buy—the cool, expensive ones, or the cheaper, boring ones with more reflective areas because she runs on busy streets at night.
Without a hitch between bites of my giant pretzel, I said, “Hon, be safe. Get the cute ones.”
Let’s face it, tens of people look up to me, so making decisions regarding myself is complicated and the stakes are high.
Let’s say I’m buying a dress for a charity event. My choices are: a dress I LOVE in a department store or one I don’t love in a small boutique. No one else at the event will likely be wearing the boutique dress. But I might see four
sluts women wearing my department store dress, and all those Real (Snooty) Housewives of the Heart Gala will think I shop at the “cheap clothes for cheap girls” store.
Deciding on paper plates is also a serious issue. Dixie plates are more expensive than the store brand but Dixie has a few more in it. If I can’t figure out the best deal, I become panicky with a prickly sensation, and my cart heads to the wine aisle. Although the prickly sensation could be caused by squatting down to check prices in sweatpants covering legs that haven’t been shaved since Labor Day.
Nowadays grocery stores label shelves with the cost per paper plate. That’s a little condescending.
Do I look like I can’t figure it out on my own? Well, I can’t because I have normal girl genes, and that type of calculus is hard for me, especially word problems. But they shouldn't automatically assume that just because I walk around the grocery store aimlessly in pink pajama pants that I don’t know the paranormal algorithm of explicit percentages like boy people.
My left brain (along with the “fun” part, according to my kids) was destroyed by watching ’70’s TV shows and stressing about stuff like whether Carol Brady would discover that Marsha and Jan were hiding reefer in their room.
Here’s how my brain works:
Me: These store brand paper plates are five cents cheaper.
Angst: How do you know they’re cheaper? Did you do the math?
Me: Shut up.
Angst: Last time that brand folded holding Coach Hubby’s spaghetti and meat balls.
Me: Alright, but if I get the name brand, I’m gonna put the Dial soap back and get the Bored Simple brand.
Angst: You need to put that cookie dough back while you’re at it.
Me: No! I never spend money on myself!
Angst: (Chardonnay coming out nose) Do you know how much wine you drink?
What’s with the explosion of store brands, anyway? I mean, pretty soon stores will only sell their Bored Simple brand, (ahem, Kroger) and I’ll have no choices, and Communism will rule pockets of suburbia and will trickle up to Chicago and then to the whole Obamanation. And then nobody will talk American anymore. There IS a lot at stake.
Forget it. I’m buying the “green” paper plates. Faced with difficult choices, vacillating moms like me will go “green,” and eventually the whole country will eat nothing but granola and tofu and wear long denim skirts. At least I’ll fit in with my hairy legs.