HOW LOW CAN YOU GO

Sunday morning I sunk to a new low. I blame my fall into corruption on my daughter. It all began Thanksgiving Day and once you lower that bar...

Technically speaking it was Thanksgiving Night at exactly 11:03 pm when Ariana drug me into the pits of hell, our local Wal-Mart.

It has been my tradition to hit the stores at 4:00 am on black Friday for those spectacular sales that make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. May I take this opportunity to say that never in all my black Friday forays have I once been lured into Wal-Mart.

If you are not certifiable when you go in you are when you come out. I have seen the survivors first hand wandering around different department store chains, chunks of hair missing, eyes rolling around in their head. It isn’t pretty.

This year Ariana actually left hearth and home Thanksgiving morning to scope out our local Wal-Mart for the exact location of the items she wanted to purchase later that night and to brush up on the rules of the game. IE what time did items go on sale etc?

For years, I invited my girls to shop black Friday with me and they always vehemently declined while shoving long lists into my hands. Now that Ariana was a mom she had come down with her own case of bargainitis.

This was the first year I had absolutely nothing to shop for so why did I find myself boxed into an aisle in Wal-Mart, laboring for breath, my hands protecting my head and feeling completely sac religious for shopping on Thanksgiving Day.

I am going to take a moment to answer that question. “I am a completely unselfish, over the top loving and now, thanks to my Wal-Mart experience a little more insane, mother.” That is my only excuse for what happened Sunday morning.

While I hadn’t actually had chunks of hair plucked from my head in Wal-Mart, I was still having a bad hair day. I had gotten up early, dressed, applied my required three pounds of makeup and was fiddling with my hair.

I was determined to wear it up for a change. It went better with my chosen ensemble. At 8:40, ten minutes after we usually leave, Ariana and my grandchildren left without me.

Ariana couldn’t resist reminding me how anal I was about being on time. It wasn’t uncommon for me to remind my grandchildren they would be going to church in their underwear if they weren’t ready to walk out the door at 8:30. This was no idle threat. Ask Garret.

Not only was I a hypocrite but I was forced to ride with Garret who was always late. At least I was dressed so the underwear threat didn’t scare me. By nine o’clock, I had taken my hair out at least six more times.

It is not easy to make your hair look messy. It’s an art. You have to make it look like you threw it up without making it look like you threw it up. At 8:55, I decided to wear it down.

I ran to the closet and pulled my black boots on before I noticed my pantyhose were blue. My boots didn’t come up high enough to hide the blue so I pulled them off and changed my panty hose, careful to pull out a black pair.

I decided to give my hair one more try. After three more attempts it was the right combination of artistry. We walked out the door at 9:15.

Half way to church, I looked down. I was wearing navy pantyhose. I could have sworn they were black. I didn’t even know I owned blue hose until that morning. Apparently, I was inundated with them.

To make matters worse, in my effort to save time I had decided to forgo pulling my boots on and had opted for my black heels.

I was going to church wearing navy blue pantyhose that clashed with my brown leopard print skirt and my black heels. And who was I kidding, my hair looked bad. I was reliving my worst vanity and late nightmares all rolled into one.

This is what happens for trying to be a supportive mother and lowering the bar to shop on Thanksgiving Day. It was all Ariana’s fault.