Black Eye Friday

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Right now you're probably wondering one of two things:

1. How was the Thanksgiving cranberry Jell-O salad received?
2. Are you getting that damn nose ring or not?

Woah there! Let me at least finish this spoonful of peanut butter before I answer those. Wait, one more. Ok, just one more. There. Now I have successfully negated this morning's 60 minute nauseating sweat fest on the treadmill.

First, the jury is still out on the nose ring. I'd say that I'm just about two amaretto sours out with my girlfriends away from taking the leap. Stay tuned.

Second, the Jell-O salad sucked. The only people who acted like they liked it were my Mom and Nick because they are the only ones who have anything vested in me not getting discouraged in my feeble attempts at cooking.

My Mom doesn't want to admit that she wasted years and years of her life forcing me into the kitchen to watch her cook in the fleeting hope that one day I would actually eat a meal not served to me in a sack. And Nick for similar reasons.

Mid-meal I looked around and those brave enough to take some were just sort of pushing it around their plates.

So that was Thanksgiving.

The next day I decided to see what this "Black Friday" hooplah was all about. I was staying the weekend in the sticks with my sister Beth, her family and the cows and Beth and I decided to get up about an hour before God to check out the deals.

Let me first say that the day got off to an awesome start as I fumbled around in my suitcase in the pitch black dark for my jeans and accidentally put on Nick's. My dieting psyche hit a previously unknown low when I couldn't get them buttoned. My dreams of Nick one day carrying me over the threshold vanished.

Anyhoo, we drove into town with nothing but the promise of a bargain keeping us awake on the dangerously winding country roads. The promise of a bargain and a breakfast McMuffin. What jeans?

We crested the hill, McMuffins in hand, expecting to see a jammed parking lot and two women pulling pistols out of their purse fighting over the last Furbie (those are still around, right?) and our jaws dropped.

The parking lot was desolate. Just a handful of mini vans and tractors. What the? We went inside and asked the checker what happened to the chaos we were promised. Apparently the sales now start at midnight.

Midnight? What the hell, man? I felt jipped. No fighting? I got up for nothing. We browsed the aisles and spent way too much on toys that Ellie will quickly discard in favor of the box, all the while feeling cheated.

We made a few more stops and the closest I got to a fight was a bitch who cut in front of us in the receipt check line at the Sam's exit because according to her we were "stopping every 5 seconds to look at stuff". I was so caught off guard that I couldn't even remember some of my key insults until we got to the car.

Next year we'll get up earlier and pack better weapons.

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