But it's not even Halloween!

In the spirit of setting my home aright for the double-duty it will perform the 4th week of November, I hauled down my scanty autumn and Thanksgiving decorations. In the past, I've collected turkeys, but the only two which have survived are a painted gourd one with a feather-duster tail and a metalwork fellow who appears anorexic. He has no fear of being on the table. Assorted pumpkins and that was it.

Alas, not nearly enough to set for a family baptismal celebration and Thanksgiving four days later. Off I went to shop.

Hobby Lobby, bless their hearts, had all sorts of stuff half-price. This was just great and I added metal pumpkins and candle holders and candles to my booty. I had pulled out my tablecloths and Target supplied another, as did Bed Bath and Beyond. Kirkland's was practically giving it away and I found some awesome wine glasses which we'll use on Thanksgiving Day when I'll have a better chance of controlling the toddler population and the glassware.

What bothers me is that I've done all this wonderful autumn shopping--and it's just October--not even Halloween--and it was all half price or less! And why might that be? Because the Christmas decorations are flooding the next aisles and demanding the space occupied by the fall goodies!

I'm not even thinking about Christmas beyond the gift list and I'm already a holiday behind. Sheesh!

Seven miles to Paree

Having survived two hunts for the Mother of the Groom dress, hereafter known as the MOG, I was invited to join a friend for the MOB hunt. This should be better, I thought, because any color and style she wants, she can have. She sets the tone, instead of following along.

But also being one to get right to the hunt, and not dither around about it, I decided to do a little online looking first. I have a skirt, jacket, and camisole, which, in a different color, I thought would be perfect for the occasion. I set about looking it up and successfully found the site of the dress line.

I should have taken a hint that all was not going to go well when the latest collection I was offered to look at was Spring 2007. And there wasn't much of that. Not to be stopped by a little thing like current inventory and un-updated websites, I searched for a location which would sell the collection. I typed in the zip code of a city in the middle of where we'd be going and two stores came up as being within 25 miles. One was in the town. The other was in Paris FC.

Now, there is a Paris Texas. It is further than 25 miles. Also, it doesn't use the term "rue" in its street addresses nor do its telephone numbers divide strangely.

After an unsuccessful afternoon trying to bag this dress--and finding out from a store that the line in question is no longer carried because 1) they didn't change their merchandise and 2) there were issues (!)--I thought about proffering the website's other suggestion anyway.

Paree, anyone? Think the father of the bride would go for that? There were only four of us shopping. All opinions were needed.

I knew better and I did it anyway

This is not the blog I was going to write today. No, I was going to rant in two parts about target marketing, otherwise known as zipcode-profiling. But then, life handed me a blog post and I'll rant later on in the weekend.

Yesterday, the local grocery store, not the big box, was having a special 4pm-10pm sale. There were special coupons and lots of 'buy one, get one for a penny.' I hadn't bothered to read their ad earlier in the week, but when a friend told me about it yesterday afternoon, I decided, what the heck--I could use some bargains, too.

I planned to zip in to the store before everyone else got off work, grab the goodies I desired, and be home in less than an hour, dinner promptly on the table by six, and me nestled on the couch for my favorite night of TV, Thursday, by seven.

The best laid plans, etc.

The parking lot was full, but there were spaces available if one was willing to walk and, since I'm on the treadmill for two miles each morning, I could hardly plea that I was unfit to do so. I took a shopping cart off a bag boy as he was coming back into the store. I didn't realize it was the last available cart until I was met with stony stares from people who had walked in 10 seconds before I had. Oh, well. I took my hustled cart and started strolling through the crowd toward produce, trying to read the ad which had been left in it and decide what to take advantage of.

The dollar coupon for any produce covered the kiwi. The bacon was priced well, and the sausage was a bargain with the second one being a penny. So far, so good. The paper towels came attached with a two-dollar coupon. No wonder everyone had a set in their cart. I skipped the chicken and rump roast, actually put a few non-sale items in my cart and hastened to the cat food, where another two-dollar coupon applied. Emerging near the frozen foods, I looked in shock at the lines to the check-out stands.

Everyone's cart was laden. This was not going to be quick or easy. I hadn't seen lines like this in about 20 years when the weatherman had predicted a week of ice (he was correct) and everyone made haste to the store to stock-up. The thaw shopping lines four days later were just as bad.

Obviously, I needed a new exit strategy. I did a quick count of my ill-gotten gain: 11 items. The quick-check lines were 12 or about and I took a circuitous route to them. Things were definitely looking better here, except the quick-checkout was also the self-checkout.

Now I had a personal dilemma: I don't use self-checkout. I think a store should provide someone to help with this process. There are questions, sometimes. I looked back to my right to the longer lines.

I caved on my moral stance and stayed in the shorter line.

It may have been self- but it wasn't quick. In the best of times, a friend who happened to get in line beside me related, the self-checkout process at this store was temperamental. Today was not the best of times. For starters, I had no experience with self-checkout and this would not appear to be the most optimum time in which to learn. But as I watched the three men in front of me fumble about with the system, I figured surely I could do this too.

Just as I get ready for my first attempt, the woman in line behind me (my friend having been spirited off to the newly opened deli counter with her two items) inquires as to the number of coupons I have. Hmmm.... I think, does she want the ones I'm not using? No, turns out she needs to pick up her grandchildren and wants (although she never directly asks) in front of me.

My husband and I had been fooled by this ploy about three years ago when a young mother accosted us in the checkout line of a high-dollar grocery, told us we didn't look like we had anything important to do, informed us she needed to get home to nurse her baby, and got in front of us. We had then watched her cry while she paid for her milk and wine and organic goods. I've never decided if her milk had just let down, or if she was embarrassed.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

I started checking my groceries. It was a laborious process, the machine not allowing me to check item X until item X-1 was sacked. Then when the paper towels fell off the weight-bearing part of the mechanism and I put them back, it told me there was a foreign object there and to remove it. It is no wonder I detest self-checkout. I'm insulted by people enough. I don't need to be insulted by a machine.

But for expedience sake, I paid by credit card. Transaction approved, a receipt was spit out. It was a very long piece of paper for my 11 items. And it was blank. The assistant manager had taken over the computer governing the self-checkout lines and I informed him I wanted my receipt. I flourished the blank page at him. The men in front of me had also received very long pieces of paper. I'd bet they were blank too, but they either didn't notice in their haste to leave, or didn't care.

I cared. So off we went to the office to get a duplicate receipt. I should have fed cash into the machine. Eventually, I had to hand over my credit card again so the proper sequence of numbers could be entered. This took 15 minutes. Then, he asked, did I want an itemized list? I was tempted to say no, but I didn't. Sure, I said. Otherwise, I had no way of knowing if I'd truly gotten any bargains. This was quicker, two pages long, and filled with code.

I'll just assume I got a bargain. I certainly got a lesson.