Yesterday was my Tuesday night out. I spend about as many of my "Tuesday Night Out's" staying home as I do actually going anywhere. It's my fault, I like being home. I try to force myself out alone once a week for my own good...lest I become a hermit. Can you even be a hermit when 5 other human beings need to be touching you 24 hours a day? Perhaps not. But I digress...I decided to go exchange a pair of Gap jeans that were too big (thanks to the expanding size system wherein even my 4 c-section battered abdomen is now too small for a size 2). I was blinded by the ever so helpful Gap manager and his clearly superior fashion sense into not realizing that I was buying the right size, but the wrong length. Along with the ever expanding sizing system, jeans are suddenly 6 inches too long on my legs. I held them up to my other "regular length gap jeans", which are already floor length and it is clear that regular length has recently taken a huge step up in inches. Honestly, how many people buying size 1 jeans have a 36 inch inseam or wear 6 inch heels on a daily basis? Idiots. So, I need to exchange them again.
I also needed to drop off a bunch of baby things at the Goodwill. We have a Goodwill "Select" store. It's like a nice version of a Goodwill...in theory. I haven't been in it, so I can't say. I was about to pull in to drop off my things when I noticed a few people loitering around outside (an oddity in our area of town). I decided to skip it, and let Daniel handle the drop off. If I'm being honest...and this is my blog...so I've never found a reason not to be...I really didn't want to part with those baby items, and the loiterers were probably not very menacing. It's confusing. I want them gone, to declutter, etc.. I don't need them anymore. Something about getting rid of bassinets, nursing pillows, and newborn things just makes me want to burst into tears though. I know that holding onto the stuff won't make the kids stay babies forever, but I'd like to try nonetheless. It's best to let Daniel handle it. He won't break into tears and need the Goodwill employees to pry his fingers loose from the bassinet.
I didn't have the energy to force myself to do anything else exciting, so I decided to get a Chick-fil-a milkshake and head home. If you haven't had a Chick-fil-a milkshake...you need to get one...that's all I have to say about that. So, the Chick-fil-a night staff must have some secret homicidal tendencies, because the girl who put the whipped cream and cherry on my shake was a lunatic. Chick-fil-a has these lovely little dome lids for the shakes. A logical person would fill the dome with whipped cream and then stop. That is what the dome is for...right? Apparently it is not obvious to everyone, because she not only filled the dome with whipped cream, she continued onward and upward. And upward, and upward and upward until there was a second free form dome of whip cream standing 3-4 inches above the plastic lid on my cup. On top of that she precariously dropped the maraschino cherry (which I hate, and I had no kids with me to fight over who gets my maraschino cherry). All of this would have been amusing if I wasn't in the drive thru...but I was. So, I tried to pull out of the parking lot without disturbing my giant mountain of whipped cream and sliding cherry. That wasn't working. So I tried to lick down the mountain of whipped cream to the level of the plastic dome, but I don't love whipped cream that much, so the endless mouthfulls of straight whipped cream was not that pleasant. All this was going on while I tried to merge into traffic. Then the cherry that I was trying to avoid fell into my mouth and tried to choke me (did I mention I hate cherries). It's a miracle I'm not a road pancake right now. People must have thought I was a drunk driver. If I see that Chick-fil-a employee again, I'm going to make a mental note of her name. She must really love whipped cream. She almost gave me a starring role in some off the wall driver's ed film like "Blood on the Highway", except in this version there would be as much whipped cream on the highway as any other substance.