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Posts Tagged ‘Shopping’

No time to blog

A post in an hour? My God, unheard of, I tell myself. But it’s Friday, I argue. Yes, yes, you should definitely post while it’s still Friday…even though you’ve only had an hour to yourself all day…all week…it’s still totally possible.

Oh, wo-ez me, right? I mean, first world problems or what?!

 

It’s been back-to-school week here in the Hazy household. The same for many, I’m sure and in between cutting hair, tweezing eyebrows, cleaning rooms, buying supplies organizing finances (take that with a grain of salt) and spending a fortune on a selection of clothing items I can count on one hand, I have come to realize that no kids, no dog and less (astonishingly vast amounts of) shedded, a creatively engineered word, hair do not in fact equal more time.

So, I literally have one hour here. Okay, I’ll admit to pinning something a while back that alluded to the fact that I hate when people misuse the word literally. Thus, I must eat that particular word and restock it with…loosely. I have to pick my daughter up in 49 minutes and I only have 37 percent battery left on my laptop (heaven forbid I’d have to run upstairs and get the charger) so really, there’s nothing literal about me having one full hour to write this post. It is literally a loose hour at the very most.

This weekend will involve spending, driving, eating, playing, watching, cheering and finally, celebrating the ability and opportunity we have to do all of these things. Something that shouldn’t be overlooked.

What will you do this weekend?

 

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*This is the 3rd instalment of a short – you can find the 2nd one here:

Vigor returning to my step, I head to the lunchroom now sporting blinders to all around me.

“Nigel, I need to talk to you.”  I look directly at him and head for the coffee pot.

He’s sitting in a fuchsia chair at the lunch table, his long fingers wrapped around a cup of sludge.  His dark, thin eyebrows lift when he hears my tone.

“Well, you’re all business bright n’ early, love.  Not even a good mornin’ for your crackerjack boss, then eh?”  Nigel’s British lilt, although normally one of his few redeeming qualities, is bordering on annoying this particular day.

“I’m not kidding, boss.  A serious face to face – when are you free?”

I look down at the dark liquid spilling out of the carafe.  With bits and pieces of brown substance bobbing up and over the spout, I swear I see an entire bean pass through the flow and into my mug.  Espresso, stock boy style.

His fingers punctuate his words and as he stands, Nigel’s tie uncurls like a snake’s tongue.  “I may have some time post lunch,” he grazes on my attire, tasting his way from my boots up to my shabbily-chic ‘bunned’ hair.  “You do have a way when it comes assembling”, he observes.  “Quite an eclectic ensemble.

Not wanting to portray any self-doubt, I do not look my outfit over in front of him, but rather resurrect a mental image of my full-length mirror from this morning; Meh, I was good.

“I do like to think outside The Box once in a while, you know Nige…?  There are options beyond…” Small pools of sweat form in my pits as I wonder if my metaphor is over his head, but I continue to doctor my coffee, now morphing into a latte, as I add more and more milk.

“As I say,” he sprays, “I’ll text you after my lunch.  I’m not sure how long I’ll be with Denise,” Was it my imagination or did he hiss the S?  “But we do have a lot to go over.”

With a snap of his tongue he slithers away.  I put his cold mug in the sink and use my still damp cuff to wipe his venom off my forehead.

*To be continued

*Constructive criticism encouraged!

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Continuation – you can find first instalment here:

I don’t make my usual stop for a skinny macchiato.   It’s raining too hard and my hands are too full, one gripping my swaying umbrella, and the other, my slippery phone.  Aware that any sensible person would ignore a text under these conditions, I swipe away, trying to access Nikki’s message but my fingers are wet and slide uselessly over the slick screen.  My attempt futile, I slip the phone back in my pocket and wish I’d made a java stop after all.  Now I’d be forced to drink the ‘coffee’ Troy made every morning.  Bless his little stock boy heart.

The store is quiet and everything, as it always does when The Box is closed, feels surreal.  I know a lot of the staff feel eery in the big store when it’s not open for business, but not me. My spirits lift the moment that warm whoosh of air escapes the big glass doors and meets my face.  There’s something about the white, high-glossed floors and the atmosphere fused with leather, lavender, lotions and limitless blood, sweat and tears.  It’s home to me.

Taking a moment to right myself, pulling in the calm and pushing out the clutter, I feel my heart rate slow as drops of water meander off my boots and onto the gleaming floor.

“Mornin’ Lenore,” Seth greets me as he places a bold Caution: Wet Floor sign on the tile. “Jeez, you’re soakin’ the place.   Dry up, would ya?”

“Very funny,” I reply. “Don’t push my buttons today, Seth cuz I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“Aww, the weather ain’t that bad!  Chin up, doll face.”

“Seth, you’re pushing…” I smile and walk away, telling him I’ll see him at lunch.

The ride up the arced escalator is soothing and the view from half way is simply stunning.  I drift up backwards to take it all in.  The Swarovski handrails glisten and their magnificent flecks are scattered throughout the store.  The billowing silk screens, blown by forced air, almost lick me as I glide by and Jalisse, the raven-haired black beauty looks like she’s swooning to the piped in Musak as she greets me at the top.  Draped in a royal blue Maxi dress, she smiles gracefully, letting me know I’ve made the right choice and that the new attire pleases her.

I’m almost completely pacified by the time I step off.  My you didn’t get the promotion because I’m giving it to Denise worries nearly forgotten.  But just as I’m passing Jalisse I notice a dot on her chin, a white chip marring her beautiful milk chocolate complexion.

It was just enough to drive me right back to crazy town.

*To (possibly) be continued

**Please feel free to comment – all constructive criticism encouraged!

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