Easy like Sunday Morning
The sun beamed in through the window as when I moseyed my way to the kitchen table with my toast and coffee. The warm ray created a nice warm cocoon from the cold air. It really was easy like Sunday morning.
When I sit at the table alone, I always read something. Magazines are usually my material of choice. They are the perfect non-committal read.
For some reason, our usually excellent magazine supply was limited to the Harbor Freight catalog. Not exactly my first choice… but, okay. Beggars can’t be choosers.
Just about every online forum that I’ve read, has at one time or other made reference to H.F. having whatever hoozywhatsis that someone needs for like 90% less than every other retailer. Like many women, I love a great bargain so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
Did I tell you I recently got a $200 pair of Betsey Johnson shoes for $30 at a store closing sale? No, seriously! I did! Every time I wear them to work I smugly chuckle to myself about my super thrifty shoes. When you only spend $30 on $200 shoes that means you have a $170 left to spend on other sale shoes. Right? Shut up. It’s new math.
Where was I? Right. Harbor Freight.
This wasn’t the first time I’ve Harbor Freight-ed. I have indeed perused their catalog before, though it’s usually right before I deposit in the recycling bin. There I sat at the table, sun-beaming. Sipping and thumbing, thumbing and sipping.
“Oooh, cool. Babe! Look at this motorcycle dolly for the garage!” I call out to my sleepy-eyed, darling Kenny.
“Why are you reading the Harbor Freight catalog?” he asked. “Yea, that is cool.”
“I don’t know. We don’t have anything else to read,” I say as he wanders back out to do something or scratch himself someplace manly.
“Babe? Did you see this solar panel thingy in here?” I shout to the living room where he’s camped out.
I have a hideously annoying habit of asking Kenny questions when he leaves the room. I know he can’t hear me and yet, I cannot help myself. Ah, the joys of cohabitation
In he comes again to see the solar panel “thingy”.
“Cool,” he says as I turn the page.
“Oooh look, they have purple wrenches!” I squealed in full on, chick glee. If I had a set of wrenches I would totally want them to be a cute color.
As always, my darling boy smiled gently at me.
…and then let me know that:
a)Tools aren’t cute
b)Purple wrenches aren’t cute
c)I need to stop getting glitter on his needlenose pliers
Whatever. The blue one is hot.