ingrid

Here is a list of expensive things:

raw-edged (meaning lazily unfinished) designer clothing

movies shown in little tiny movie theaters

local beer in glass bottles

old bikes put together for a non-profit

brown free range eggs

anything to do with plumbing

those really good laughing cow tiny cheeses

new things made to look old

syrup that comes from trees

buying a bus ticket for someone else (the ticket might be $15, but the “gift” fee is $18)

“handling” charges on theater tickets

framing $5 posters

decision making with children

chicken feed in the city

 

I went shopping with Kendall today.  It was fun, but sort of an ordeal.  First of all, you can’t just go shopping, you have to arrange for baby sitting, move car seats around, and plan for nap times.  Then, even with the best of planning, once embarked on the actually shopping part of the day, I had to stop for 30 minutes to change and nurse Inez.  It seriously cut into my shopping!  I am also struck by how shopping with a child causes me to make many errors in judgment.  I know that studies have been done showing how people will spend more than they should with a credit card.  What about people who spend more than they should and buy things that they don’t quite consider fully because of their children?  Case in point:  recently I bought a bed for the basement.  We really needed a bed down there as we had guests coming.  I knew the bed that I wanted, but it was out at Ikea and would need to be transported home somehow.  I arranged with a sister to drop the kids and borrow her car so that I might pick the bed up.  Once I got to the store however, I found out that the bed I wanted was only HALF in.  That is, some of the parts were there, but others were not.  The parts weren’t interchangeable.  The sides that I needed “might” be in after a week or so, but then again, “they might not”.  In my exhaustion and haste, I decided to just buy a freakin’ bed already, because it had been such a big deal to borrow the car, arrange child-care and find the time to get to the store.  I bought a bed.  Now I realize that the one I chose takes up the whole room.  The headboard doesn’t push up against the wall because it has this special flare design.  Now I wish I could take it all back and get the bed I wanted, but it is too late now.  Man!

I bought pants today that I think are too short.  I couldn’t find what I thought was the right size.  Inez was screaming her head off in the store and I was almost done.  I needed to meet Kendall in a few minutes.  I couldn’t actually remember what length I was looking for.  The numbers were blurring in front of my eyes.  So I just grabbed the nearest pants and headed for the check stand.

When I was NOT pregnant with Inez, I ran out to find a swimsuit bottom.  I had 15 minutes.  I tried on tons of bottoms, but as I am of traditional build (that is a “Number One Ladies Detective Agency” joke), I find that I usually had more than enough bottom for my bottoms.  I finally found a good butt sling, carried it to the cashier, waited a long time in line, and then he said, “I will have to go check on the price on these as they are maternity”.  Wah?  I guess I could have stopped him as he ran off to figure out how much my prego-pants were, and mind you, I WASN’T PREGNANT, but frankly I didn’t have the time or energy.  I just bought them.  I also thought, “Great!  Now I am going to get pregnant!’.  I know that is not the way it works.  

I went searching for chicken scratch yesterday, and found myself at the city chicken plant nursery place in our neighborhood.  They are a little snooty there anyway, but their offer of a $30 bag of cracked corn really amazed me.  What happens to the $12 bag to make it arrive at $30 once it gets to the city?  I don’t get it.  Here is a case where I did not succumb to my haste.  I will not pay $30 for chicken scratch.  There is a reason people have the expression, “Awwww, that’s chicken scratch!”, and it is not because $30 is a deal.

My sister was very patient with me when I followed our trip to Banana Republic with a request to find the nearest feed store in Woodburn.  I mean, we were in WOODBURN, and that is sort of like the country!  I found my chicken scratch, slapped down my $9.99, and slung the 50 lb bag on my shoulder.  Yeah!  That is more like it!  Chicken scratch, man!

 

This is a cautionary tale people!  Don’t be like me with your money.  That is, only sometimes be like me, but without buying too-big beds, too-pregnant bathing suits, and too-short pants.  Remember chicken scratch!

In: Chickens Are Super Fabulous, General bitchin', urban farming | | #