It was so nice to have a day off. Feels… normal. Frank and I shopped, searching for a Favre #4 jersey, kids size 8. We scoured the rotten, evil mall. Every store said they were sold out.
“Number four’s a popular number this year…”
I didn’t even know I was looking for a number four, just Packer, Favre and kid size. But that number four, uttered from a kind salesperson’s lips, was what ended up saving the day. Steve & Barry’s was having an eight-dollar sale, everything for 8 bucks. I picked up 3 pairs of jeans (twins and Dants). Had them wrapped at the “free with optional donation” kiosk. They weren’t intentionally gifts, but since I could get them wrapped for free, why not?
The lady was kind, but slow, and I ended up wrapping one of the boxes myself. We left a $2 donation.
I stopped in at Payless shoes, hoping to find another pair of the furry suede boots that are all the rage (right now I’m outfitted in my daughter’s too-big ones), but no luck. We left the mall, ready to get some food, but made a quick stop at TJ Maxx. Frank ran down to the athletic store to see if he could find the jersey. I browsed the purses, fragrances, boots (still looking), wandered past the women’s clothing, back to the linens where I picked up a twin flannel set to hold in my hands and “ponder” while I shopped. Frank showed up with a Favre jersey that looked fit for a toddler.
I shook my head. “How much was it?”
“Frank. Take it back!! He’ll be lucky if he fits into it at all, there’s no room to grow even. No way. We’ll have to shop online and hope we find something. And hope it comes before Christmas.” I set the flannel sheets down on a display table by the men’s clothes, deciding not to get it. As we walked by the customer service desk I saw a flash of green and gold and the number four amongst a rack of clothing behind the desk. I leaned into the counter, fondling the shirts. Two were large men’s size and one — I knew from the experienced eye of a mother — was a child’s size 8. “Are these on hold?” I asked the young man who was ringing up a customer.
He came over, looked at them and pinched the two man-sized shirts in his fist. “From here down is.” He motioned opposite of the jersey I had my eye on. I snatched it up and checked out the tag. Size 8. Price? $29.99. Score.
As Frank came back to see what the hold up was, I held up the jersey. “Size 8.” He was about as shocked as I was. I shrugged. Smiled. Stifled maniacal laughter. And raced my fat little legs over to pay for it before someone could tell me differently.
Lunch was at the Hong Kong Cafe, Madison. We had calamari for appetizer, Mongolian beef and governor (something). I liked Frank’s governor (something) better, and ended up mixing both dishes for a satisfying meal.
. . .
Frank has off tomorrow, and we thought I should go ahead and take tomorrow off, too. It is hard for me to take a day off, for some reason. I feel guilt. Like I’m playing hookie. Heh.