Taking the Heathen to Church

It's only Wednesday to you, but to me it's just a few days till Saturday. I'm not looking toward the weekend just for its own sake, but because we have an errand.

Sometime in the past month our shower curtain was assaulted by a particularly vicious form of mold. We can't even get rid of it, since the little bugger has embedded itself into the very polymer structure of the curtain. So, since it's starting to look rather scary, on Saturday (per The Boy's very wise suggestion) we're headed to Target to buy a new one.

Was I sad to hear this? Indifferent? Hardly. The Boy says "Target" and thinks, "Store where I buy stuff." I hear "Target" and think, "Target...the one that's right across the street from the craft store...hmmm..."

Guess where we're going? And yes, he already agreed to it, so there's no backing out. OK--what he actually agreed to was waiting outside while I run in and check prices on a few things. Just a few, I swear, for my Christmas card project. Still, I know he's not looking forward to this. I think The Boy views craft stores as some sort of hellmouth of tacky femininity, the kind of place where people go because they actually WANT to buy a Bedazzler.

OK. So he's not entirely wrong. There is some good stuff, if you know what you're going in for. But without a plan, you'll just spend an hour walking up and down the aisles, thinking up new projects, and getting yourself totally lost. Eventually you find yourself at the counter buying a string of fake pearls, a woodworking kit, some hot glue sticks, and three plastic roses.

Which is exactly what he's afraid of, because he’s seen me come home with That Look. The “Guess what I’m going to make?” look. He knows not to trust it.

Never fear, though. I have a plan. I already know I need to check the prices on (and maybe buy) blue cord and paper punches. Sounds simple, but it means I must venture into that scary section...the scrapbooking aisle. It's not the items that scare me; it's the people. If you don't think they're a cult, it's because you've never met them. I figure I'll walk in all cool, check the prices, grab what looks good, and get out before they brainwash me into buying border-trimming scissors, rubber stamps, and $30 worth of "embellishments". They could do it, too. Those women are tough.

Maybe I should get The Boy to come in with me.

Of course, while I’m there, I should probably check the prices on feathers... Did I mention I'm making a wreath for Christmas?

Comments

[Reverend H.L. Spork]

Yes, my girlfriend actually thinks she's going to make a Christmas wreath out of feathers. So she wants to *buy* feathers, when you can easily get them for free off many available dead pigeons. No, honey, I'm sorry, God intended wreaths to be made from plant matter, not animal leavings. It's like making a Christmas wreath out of snakeskin, or fish scales, or toenail clippings.

As for going to the crafts store, sweetheart, I'm afraid I'm going to have to veto that as well. No craft store until you put away your hot glue gun, construction paper, and plastic spiders.

What a silly girlfriend. =-)

[Steph]

Scrapbookers are like drug addicts. I used to have two coworkers who were into it. One woman lived right near some massive scrapbooking store, while the other had no access to such glories. So she would give money to the lucky lady to buy stuff for her. The first time I stumbled into one of their transactions, it sounded like a drug deal going down. The clandestine passing over of money, "Are you sure you'll be able to get the stuff? It is the best, right?", plan on how to sneak it into the house without the spouse seeing it, the use of secret money to pay for it, etc. Sad, sad, sad.