I don't think shopping gets the respect it deserves. Instead of being considered an errand or chore, I think it should be considered a sport. It sounds more appropriate to say you are going to an iron man cart-a-thon, than to say you are going grocery shopping. Or, for those who are exercise enthusiasts, maybe they would prefer to say they are going to acquisition calisthenics?
Just as football, basketball, soccer, and many other sports activities are very physically demanding, shopping requires the shopper to not only be a quick decision maker and agile, but strong as well. I know, you're probably rolling your eyes and scoffing in disdain at the mere thought of grouping something as simple as shopping together with world class athletes, but hear me out.
Have you ever tried lifting the last 35 pack of 16.9 oz bottles of water from the back of the grocery store rack, without bouncing your head off the store's steel racking, while simultaneously trying to place the giant case pack on the bottom of a grocery store shopping cart? This is weight lifting and wrestling combined.
The really hard part of this task is trying to set the case pack on the shopping cart without having the cart scoot away from you. It's as though the water has some kind of reverse magnetic field which pushes the cart a few inches away from you every time you get close enough to load it onto the shopping cart.
Ever encountered an elderly person when they are on an electric shopping cart? As soon as a store attendant unplugs the cart from the charging station, you'd better step lively as the elderly person takes off at full throttle. Watching these silver foxes traverse the store aisles is akin to the running of the bulls in Spain as patrons flee in panic or try to climb to higher ground on store shelving to avoid being gored in the Achilles tendon or flattened in the meat department.
How about Black Friday shopping in the electronics department? You had better be able to throw a block as well as a Super Bowl defensive lineman if you want to get your hands on an electronic item at a rock bottom price.
Have you ever been to a 50% off women's shoe sale at a department store? If you haven't, before heading out you might consider donning a helmet and shoulder pads. Shopping at one of these sales is like being in a Roller Derby match, complete with body slams and take downs for that pair of killer Christian Louboutin pumps.
The threat of ice or snow in the South sends people in droves to the grocery store to quickly stock up on milk, bread, and batteries. When the stores' supplies start to run low, customers channel their inner Rocky Balboa and will box 12 rounds for a loaf of Mrs. Baird's bread.
Once the shopping trip is complete and all of the shopping bags have been loaded into the car, the sport of shopping doesn't end. It's now time to drive home. Shoppers revving their car engines in the parking lot sound akin to NASCAR drivers preparing to speed off at the first wave of the starting flags. And, if you've ever been in a parking lot crosswalk when one of these speed racers is bent on breaking the land-speed record, you would probably agree they are ready for their race car driving debut.
As you can see, shopping isn't for the faint of heart. It requires the shopper to be physically and mentally prepared for any obstacle they may incur. It also requires them to have a game plan, so their victory can be celebrated when the shopping list is complete.
The only difference between sports and shopping is in the awards ceremony. In sports, a metal trophy symbolizing the sport is awarded to the top finisher. In shopping, a glass of wine in a crystal goblet and a few bites of chocolate are the coveted award.
Yes, shopping is indeed a sport.
How is it that no matter how much of an effort I make, no matter how many times I look under beds, dressers, and living room furniture, or how thoroughly I count to make sure I have an even number, I always lose at least one sock when I do laundry. I have checked everywhere in my washer and dryer for these lost socks and yet I still come up empty-handed.
It gets frustrating having to go room-by-room in search of all the socks that were either thrown carelessly on the floor or were used as snowballs in a summer version of a snowball fight. Add to that frustration another search during the folding phase of laundry, and my head is ready to explode like a Looney Tunes cartoon character.
I know, I know. If I would teach my children to put their dirty clothes in the hamper, it would cut my frustration down as I'd only have to search once for missing socks. I have obviously failed miserably at teaching this task to both of my children, but especially to my son. All of his clothes can be found laying on the floor directly in front of his hamper. Not on the hamper, in the hamper, or even thrown carelessly around his room. No, all of his clothes lay in a heap directly in front of his hamper.
Since he really loves football, maybe I would have better luck getting him to actually put his clothes in the hamper if I were to leave the hamper lid open and attach a cut-out of a wide receiver to it. That way he could practice his throwing and make a "completion" every time he actually gets his clothes in the hamper. I might could even take that idea a step further and attach a motion-activated speaker with audio that plays the sound of screaming fans every time an article of clothing actually makes it into the hamper.
But even with that addition to my son's hamper, it still would not solve where our socks go during the laundering process. Seriously, what happens to our socks? Are there a bunch of one-footed sock thieves that quietly sneak in our house on laundry day and steal just one sock out of my laundry? Could there be little sock gremlins or dust bunnies who snatch the socks and hide them out of spite for vacuuming up their friends each week?
Or maybe they end up down the street in one of the neighbor's washer or dryer. Maybe what happens is everyone's socks in our neighborhood get sucked out of our washing machines and pushed into someone's at the back of our subdivision. Heck, maybe that neighbor is scratching their head wondering where in the world this odd assortment of socks are coming from.
They could be a crew sock only family but now they've got ankle socks, knee socks, and socks with little danglies on the ankle. And even worse would be instead of just having white socks, they've now got a huge influx of socks with stripes, solids, neons and primary colors. Oh the horror of it all!
The neighbor might even be worried that one of their kids has a sock fetish. Imagine the embarrassment of having to talk about their child getting strung out on bright colors, Looney Tunes characters, fun patterns, and *gasp* the dreaded holiday patterns! They may be worried someone might see their child wearing socks with Christmas trees and wreaths in July. Why, they'd be so mortified and they might never live that embarrassment down!
To alleviate their stress, maybe at our next neighborhood picnic, along with potato salad and dessert, we should all bring our odd socks. We could play "Pin the sock on the owner".
Until then, my weekly search for the lost sock shall continue. Now I will look a little bit closer for any fierce looking dust bunnies that may be hoarding a sock under a sofa or dresser, and I might even check outside to make sure there aren't any footprints of a one-legged bandit leading to/from the house on laundry day.
I'm sure if we all band together, we will find the culprit of the sock disappearances and laundry day angst will become a thing of the past....... unless the culprits are actually aliens who are weaving all of our socks together in a diabolical plot to take over the world...............
by: Christie Bielss
"If a man watches three football games in a row, he should be declared legally dead." - Erma Bombeck. I think this quote not only applies to football games, but to the NFL Draft as well.
Last week was the Draft and my husband (Mike) was glued to the tv. Every now and again we would see signs of life in the form of moans, groans, and comments, but not much else.
Each time the Dallas Cowboys were "on the clock", the air in our house would become so electrified, it positively crackled with excitement over the prospects still available. Are they going to pick the Incredible Hulk for the offensive line, or maybe a towering defensive tackle, or even a Sherman Tank-like running back?
The kids and I stood on either side of the television like the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders cheering for the next pick. "Offense! Defense! Or a Running Back! We don't care, just don't give us another hack!!" was our cheer. And then the Cowboys would announce the player they were drafting and we'd eagerly watch my husband's face for a reaction. Sadly, it was like being in a heavily fought football game and having the ball on the one yard line with :03 seconds left in the game. The quarterback would drop back, find his receiver and throw a beautiful spiral right into the receiver's hands .......... only to have him drop it in the end zone and lose the game. Everyone's faces displayed their disappointment over the loss and you could see tears rolling down the faces of some of the players and fans. Yes, we saw the same reaction from Mike for each selection Jerry Jones made.
Unfortunately, after several disappointing picks and our inability to produce a good enough cheer to turn the draft around, or get our sports fan enthusiastic, we were benched. We packed away our pom-poms and left Mike to handle his disappointment in peace. I checked on him a little while later and he was still sitting in the same spot with his eyes glazed over, mumbling something incoherent about needing Jimmy Johnson ..........
by: Christie Bielss
