There are still a few nice, honest people left in the world. Case in point: the guy who saved my ass this weekend. After church, I stopped at the grocery store on the way home to pick up a few necessities. I had the kid in tow and we were both still dressed in our good church clothes so I was carrying a clutch purse instead of my normal, ginormous, running-around-doing-errands purse (this fact becomes important later – just trust me on this). I’m never a fan of grocery shopping even at the best of times and doing it in 3” heels, with a 4-year-old who is ready for his nap and yet still not too tired to notice and ask about every toy, piece of candy, box of cookies or sugary cereal that we come across is even more difficult. So, I was on a mission to get in, get the stuff we needed, and get outta there as fast as possible. I managed to accomplish this task fairly well except I had to give up on the lunch meat as there was a line 6-people-deep at the deli counter so that was a no-go. Still, got the milk, the diet coke and the peanut butter and everything else on my list and got out of the store without any tantrums occurring on either my part or on Ryan’s part. Navigated the demolition derby that is the parking lot without breaking my neck or having Ryan get run over by some crazed psycho in a Hummer who thinks the parking lot is the best place to try to break the land speed record. Got the kid and the groceries in the car, was a good citizen and put the grocery cart back in the cart return area and headed for home. No problems, right? I pull into the garage and start to unload things when I suddenly realized that I don’t see my purse. Anywhere. I start frantically looking for it at which point this small voice pipes up from the back seat: “Uh, Mom, are you looking for your purse?” “Yes, honey, do you see it back there?” “No, you left it in the cart at the grocery store.”
Those of you that are women and carry purses are screaming along with me, I am sure. See, my normal purse is a shoulder bag, which stays on my shoulder and therefore is never at risk of being left behind somewhere. Not so with a clutch purse – it’s easy to set it down and forget about it. In fact, if you want to free up your hands to do anything, you almost have to set it down (although mine has a wrist strap so you can hang it from your wrist and note to self that I need to freakin’ use the strap next time!) I remember jumping back into the car and starting the engine and then everything is a blur until I pull back into the grocery store parking lot. Well, I do remember Ryan saying from the back seat that I should slow down or the “pleaseman” will give me a ticket and me muttering some response about an emergency (Ryan has since told at least two perfect strangers that it is okay to break the law if it is an emergency – way to go, me). As I squeal into the handicapped spot (emergency, remember?) which is the closest place I can park to the cart return, I can see my grocery cart sitting there by itself, but it’s obvious that there’s no black clutch purse in it. My heart is sinking, but I decide to go into the store and check to see if anyone has been honest enough (yeah, right) to maybe have turned in the purse. As I get up to the door of the store, I see a man standing off to the side with a cart and something black in it. Just as I’m about to try for a closer look, he looks at me and says “I think I have your purse – I recognize you from your driver’s license. Don’t worry, everything is still in it.” After he picked me up off the ground where I had fallen into a puddle of relief, I thanked him a bunch of times and headed back for the car because Ryan was still strapped into it and I didn’t want to leave him alone (or the car in the handicapped spot) any longer. It wasn’t until I got home that I realized I should’ve given the guy something as a reward. That purse had all the cash I’d just taken out when I bought groceries, all my credit and ATM cards, my (brand new) driver’s license, my phone, and a new pair of Brighton sunglasses that I just bought in Vegas. Losing it could have so been a complete disaster.
So, thank you again, Good Samaritan, whoever you are!
In other news...
I am completely addicted to the Choco-Nut trail mix from Mother’s Market and it is ruining my diet. And yet, can’t stop eating it. So good.
Went to Vegas over Memorial Day Weekend and had a fabulous time. Bought the aforementioned Brighton sunglasses, saw two shows, shopped, hung out by the pool, ate at a couple of fabulous restaurants and just generally had a terrific time. Oh, here’s the pair of sunglasses I almost bought instead. I actually like them a little bit better, but they are very similar to a prescription pair that I already have so I decided to go for something with a little different look. The prescription glasses are at the eye doctor’s shop for repair so I needed something to wear in the meantime.
The shows I went to were “Le Reve” at the Wynn hotel and “Love” at the Mirage. The former was good, but very bizarre with no real story line. The latter is a Cirque-du-Soleil show set to Beatles’ music and it was excellent!
While in Vegas, I noticed a disturbing trend. I wasn’t going to mention it figuring that hey, it’s Vegas, you never know what you’ll see there (for example, there were so many women wearing hooker gear and having several inches of thong showing out the back of their pants that my retinas nearly burned out, but whatever), but since my return, I’ve noticed it occurring here as well. What is it, you ask? Women wearing shoes that are either way too big or way too small for their feet. Did I miss a memo? When did it become okay to have 3” of shoe base sticking out behind your heel or 3” of your toes hanging off the front edge of your shoe? Shoes – especially heels – are uncomfortable (and expensive) enough that I cannot fathom why anyone would buy and wear shoes that don’t fit. And I don’t mean that they’re just a tad bit tight and you know the leather will stretch out. I’m talking don’t fit by at least a couple of sizes. Why? I don’t get it. Oh, and besides the comfort and expense issue, it’s incredibly unattractive. Someone please explain this to me.
Oh, and speaking of shoes…the highlight of my trip was when I went into the Stuart Weitzman (ritzy, high-end, designer shoes) store in the Forum Shops at Caesar’s Palace and both of the sales clerks kept commenting on the shoes I was wearing and how cute they were. Now, I’ll admit, they are a really cute pair of metallic silver strappy sandals with some jeweled embellishment on the front (hey, it was Vegas – if you can’t wear your bling there, then you might as well not own any). But, it was all I could to make it out of the store without bursting into gales of laughter.
Why? Because those so cute sandals?
They’re from last summer.
And they’re from Payless.
They cost me about $9.00 during a BOGO sale.
Not only can I rock the cheap shoes…I can rock ‘em in Stuart Weitzman’s store.
Life is good.