"What's the spork for", asked Mr. Scoop as we left the house today.
"Well, we have so many from all the take out we get. And, it's not like they're useful for eating", I replied. "But, you just never know. We could always find ourselves in a spork related emergency. Haven't you ever seen an innocently parked bicycle outside of a mall and realized that its spokes are just crying out to be jammed with a spork?"
"No", he said. "And I drink."
"Well, I do too", I said. "And I hate bicycles. And sporks."
Last year Mr. Scoop and I made the mistake of trying to get some shopping needs taken care of at the mall prior to Black Friday, the most repugnant of all shopping days (unless you're my mom. Then it's more important than the Baby Jesus's birthday because it's about buying shit for the Baby Jesus's birthday.) This year...we forgot and went to the mall again.
It was my fault. This will be the second year in a row that I get to host Thanksgiving and I had decided that I needed to invest in a real roasting pan. Not one of the disposable aluminum ones that gets tossed as soon as its contents are no longer interesting. Or have become fuzzy. No, a big honkin' Calphalon one that I can put over a burner and use to make gravy. Which is stupid and ostentatious, I know. I'm going to actually have to wash it, for Christ's sake. What the hell am I thinking?
The massive construction project affecting the mall seems to be nearly done. Parking wasn't quite as difficult as last year. We actually parked near a building, instead of in another zip code. There seemed to be fewer bodies milling aimlessly about the place, perhaps because there was more square footage to spread them over (although...is it wrong to hope that the thinning masses were due to most undesirables being herded into a holding pen. You know, you can call it "Nordstrom's", but we both know, right? I won't tell. Really.)
They gave Crate and Barrel its own building and parking lot, which somehow only made me feel more the bull in the proverbial china shop upon visiting it. More square footage to damage if I choose to visit it after partaking of a bottle or two of Chardonnay at the mall's branch of Legal Seafoods in the other mall building on the other side of the parking lot. So many sparkly, breakable object on the first floor of the building. So little time. So not looking to get another restraining order. Again.
This year Santa was sober. Which was disappointing because we weren't. And mall security was ready for us this year. We kept walking. Unfortunately, this meant that we soon found ourselves walking into the circle of Hell that is Macy's cosmetics and fragrance department.
"Try my blush!" exhorted one blonde bimbo from one side of the corridor. "No", exclaimed another. "Come here! For purchasing just $50 of our products we will give you a free makeover!" She smiled a shark's smile. Had the same dead doll's eyes too. Mr. Scoop reached for his flask and splashed her with bourbon. "The power of Christ compels you!" he yelled. "Put that away", I hissed. "Don't waste perfectly good whiskey on these harpies."
Another desperate sales whore jumped in front of us. She brandished a tester of perfume. "Get swept away by the power of Obsession", she ejaculated. I couldn't take it anymore. I whipped out my spork: "Get away from me bitch. I'll gut you."
We eventually made it to the car. But I really need to remind myself not to do this again next year.