It’s Thursday and Amy has finally come up with an itinerary.
When she told me we were going to see a musical on Broadway tonight, my first thought was, “This is going to be like a very special episode of 16 and Pregnant, and can only end one of two ways.”
The show was great, although I was horrified when Amy asked a one-armed lady to take our photo. She really needs to be better at disclosing the fact that “a photo” usually consists of about 15 retakes per pose.
If you are ever in New York, End of the Rainbow is an entertaining, if not sobering, musical on the final months of Judy Garland’s life.
We are going to Costco today and I am rabid with dread.
UPDATE: My dread was justified. New Jersey is one of the most unpleasant places I’ve ever been.
Almost immediately after we walked in, a lady in a scooter clipped Amy’s leg as she sped past us toward the deli. I’m sure it was an accident.
UPDATE: It wasn’t an accident. That woman is a terrorist.
UPDATE: Everyone here is awful. The people in this Costco are completely unwilling to yield to other shopping carts. You would think their version of “Stand your ground,” included never moving an inch for anyone for anything.
We had to navigate through a particularly cumbersome corridor and at the end, about thirty feet later, a lady appeared with her shopping cart and gave me this look that said, “I’m not moving. I’m going forward, exactly in the path you are in. Your only alternative is to move your cart back thirty feet, and then, if you are lucky, you can come back the same way and move to the next aisle.”
I rammed her cart. Nothing too extravagant—though I was tempted to go for a full on cart-tipping collision—but I realized that this bitch was playing chicken in flip-flops. I had nothing to lose.
I went around the corner to watch Amy contemplate which ridiculous size container of coffee creamer she was going to purchase.
The lady in the scooter returned. It was so good to see her. I felt like we had gotten off on the wrong- um, foot. She tapped our cart as she passed by. Bitch.
After being hit or refused aisle space by every asshole in the tri-state area, I had finally had it. The cart was going to go at a steady 5 mph and I wasn’t stopping, slowing down, or yielding for anyone. I immediately ran into Amy. (Sorry!)
After I adopted my new strategy, things got easier. Even the children were getting out of my way, which was impressive because not one of them had previously shown any hint of self-preservation.
The meat department was a bust, and we slowly made our way to the front, where I would have a final showdown with the lady in the scooter. She sure does get around.
It would be lovely to report that the bitter old spinster perished to “Duel of the Fates,” playing in the background as I triumphantly totaled her scooter with our shopping cart; however, the best I could do was hit the side of her basket and cut in front of her in line. God may get me for it, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to.
One hour, six or eight wrong turns, and lots of profanity later, we arrived at the Wal-Mart six miles away. From there, it took us two hours to make it back across the Hudson. In the span of an hour, we managed to go a grand total of four miles.
There was a point that I was so certain we wouldn’t be returning home that I started mentally updating my Last Will and Testament, dividing up all my worldly possessions (to wit: one Chihuahua).
Anyway, the whole Costco trip was so time-consuming, so exhausting, and so absolutely ridiculous, that we had a movie night at home.
TGI Friday my ass,