On our recent outing to the Island of Misfit Toys, otherwise known as The Mall, I noticed that the fabled “Everything for $13.99 or Less Sale” was going on at Gymboree.
And then I did the “raise the roof” gesture. Not even to be ironic, or funny. (I would have been neither, by the way.) I was just that excited. And just that much of a loser. On a related note, I recently received my invitation to the Dorkheimer Mom Hall of Fame. I’m thinking about wearing my new high-waisted jeans to the induction ceremony.
When I was a younger lass, upon entering a store in the midst of a sale, I would politely peruse the new merchandise up front, biding my time until I could get to the Tootsie Roll Center of the store; THE SALE RACK. Now, I just don’t give a shit. I can elbow my way to clearance rack like a pro. You know when things get really cheap and they throw all the crap on sale in a bin? Oh, yeah. I am one of those desperate ladies who could care less how ridiculous she looks with a $3.99 Christmas dress over her shoulder in the middle of August. Bring it, bitches. I am the queen of the sale rack.
I am pretty particular in what the wee ones wear when we are out and about. But I am also the stingiest SOB on the planet (okay, second; my dad passed his mad skills on to me, and I have yet to userp the throne). I can look like shit, but my kids better be well coiffed and clean before I take them out in public. Baby Gap, Gymboree, oh how I adore thee. Wal-Mart? Ah, no, thanks. You’ve been picked last for kickball yet again. Better luck next time; and maybe you should see someone about that acne problem. So when the annual Gymboree sale comes around, I completely lose it. As in “raising the roof” in the middle of the mall; much to the dismay of my husband.
Here is the thing about Gymboree… Who on god’s green earth pays $23.99 for a pair of children’s pajamas? They are the nicest ones that I have had on Finn, and they do hold up better than any of the other ones I’ve bought. But twenty-four dollars? Are those people insane?? I buy them on sale; Finn doesn’t give a rat’s-ass if he is wearing Halloween pajamas in January. This is the same kid who would proudly rock neon orange and green sparkly spider socks with his Crocs if I allowed it (don’t even get me started on hideous, repulsive Crocs. Oh, the humanity.) Now summer has set in, and I gotta go stock up on shorty jammies.
Or do I?
Up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A, start. Oh, a clever loophole…
WARNING: The following image may be disturbing to younger readers.
Oh, no she didn’t. Oh yes, I did. I just cut up seventy-five dollars worth of pajamas.
I totally braced myself for impending Armageddon once Finn had seen what I had done to his precious batty jammies. A few months ago, I cut the faux layered, long sleeve arms off his favorite Spiderman t-shirt, and all fucking holy hell broke loose. Those crack-pots protesting military funerals had a better leg to stand on than Finn and his newly shorn Spiderman shirt. This kid went bat-shit insane for forty-five minutes. He made Mel Gibson look like he just popped a handful of Xanax.
I braced myself for it… And all I got was a “Oh, wow. That’s cool, Mom.”
Where is this child when it is time for bed? Nevermind. I’ll take it wherever I can get it.
Once Gymboree gets wind of the desecration of the sacred Gymmies (Trademark, I’m sure), I am positive that my Gymboree Rewards card will be revoked, and they’ll probably burn my Gymbucks then next time I stop in. If I thought that lady who works there had a stick up her ass before, she’s gonna give me a real dressing down now. And seriously, woman? How miserable can your job be? Come to think of it, I would probably be pretty cranky if I had to listen to a loop of Yo Gabba Gabba and Dinosaur Train clips forty hours a week…
Wait a minute. I do. That explains a lot.
