She’s killing me, I tell ya.
This time, my Little Cake Boss literally left me holding the bag(s)… for over an hour.
My knees crumbled under the weight.
Two vertebrae were crushed.
But I persevered. I mentally made myself to be one of our heroic Marines, carrying a wounded buddy to safety… while on the receiving end of an enemy barrage.
I had the kids for ten days this time; I’m guessing their mother got another invitation to travel with a certain “somebody”. The fact she didn’t take my son to piano tells me it must’ve been some trip. She didn’t even tell her own kids where she would be going. Unbelievable.
Maybe it was court ordered community service.
Nah. Wishful thinking.
But the Little Cake Boss had been asking me for over a couple of weeks if I could take her shopping with her friends. She said she was loaded with greenbacks and gift cards. She even remembered how much she got from whom.
See. Women never forget.
So I often asked her during those ten days, “When? Saturday or Sunday?”
Forget even asking what time. She uses an hour glass that she forgets to turnover.
Or even the logistics. “How many of you are going?” “When am I to pick them up…and from where?” LOL
And when I ask again, she gets mad…again.
Well, I guess I should be happy she asked me and not her mom.
So Friday evening comes…and OMG. She has a plan…kinda.
“Can you take us on Sunday, Papa?” she asks.
“Sure, Bu-chan (my nickname for her). Who and at what time?”
“I don’t know yet,” she says.
Long story short, I end up picking up one of her BFF’s, “N”, at her house on Sunday at 10:45 am… and this is after the plans changed once again that morning. Her other BFF, “A”, is now having her mother drop her off at the mall at 11:00 “in front of Nordstrom’s”. She tells me this as we near the mall. (Never mind I was forced to clean the WHOLE house Saturday as “A’s” mother was supposed to be dropping her off at my house… Grrr…)
“In front of Nordstrom’s, Bu-chan?” I ask.
“Yessssss,” she annoying answers as I apparently interrupted the two girls I am chauffeuring. They are the paying customers, you know.
“Bu-chan… I think there are five entrances to Nordstrom’s…” says I.
She doesn’t answer. Cha-ching. Got her. Finally. “Have her meet us in front of Lazy Dog Cafe then,” I say.
She still doesn’t really answer because her old man got her. She hates that because she’s the Boss. I can see her hurriedly texting “A”. She’s a text queen, you know.
Anyways, I can’t remember how many stores they hit… Translation: how many HOURS… and while she knew I would have to tag along, she “hinted” I didn’t have to stand “close” to them. Sheesh.
Then, the 1-1/2 hour nightmare… It’s the equivalent of a woman having to stand for hours on end in the Craftsman Tool section at Sears while the man drools…
They hit the cosmetics section.
Lancome, even. Criminy.
I didn’t know twelve year old girls could get so giddy.
They were crazed. I think their brains stopped working. They went from “thing” to another “thing” in there. I have no frickin’ idea what the stuff they slathered on their faces were called. There were just a bazillion colors. They would put it on then wipe it off. They used a bazillion black or white sticks with stiff little bristles at the end that they took to their eyes while standing millimeters away from the mirror…all whilst contorting their faces. They stood so close, they blocked out the sun standing in front of those full-length mirrors.
Oh…and don’t forget… I indeed got stuck holding the bag(s)…
But I persevered… for over six hours.
Think about it. I could have flown from JFK to LAX on the Spirit of St. Louis in less time…and stopped to refuel.
Oh… They went back to the opposite end of the mall afterwards… to hit Sephora.
That’s another makeup place for you guys.