The other day, I was shopping at one of my favorite department stores. For the purpose of this blog, I'll call it K's. As you all probably know, I have an adorable granddaughter whom I love to shop for. (And if I see you out in public and pull out her baby pics, just smile and let me have my way.) My daughter tries to hold be back, but sometimes I lose control. Okay, smart aleks, I always lose control. I'm a grandma, what can I say?
Anyway, I'm at K's in the baby section and everything is looking adorable. How to choose? I steered clear of dresses because the sweet girl is crawling and I know crawling doesn't work well with dresses. So that narrowed things down a bit.
I picked out a few cute onesies that could be paired with shorts or worn alone. Some shorts and tops got added to the cart. I chose a 3-piece set of jammies just because there was a cupcake on the front and I knew she'd look so darn cute. I picked out a few more 3-piece sets that had a shirt, shorts and a onesie. I took a glance down at my cart and thought I was hovering on a thin line between too much and just the right amount. So I scurried out of the department before anything else called to me.
When I got home, I took everything out of the bag and one by one looked at what I'd purchased. I smiled when I looked at one of the 3-piece outfits, imagining how cute my granddaughter would look in pink and white polka dots. I picked up the last outfit. Huh. It looked familiar, probably because I'd spent so much time in the store. But wait. There in the pile of clothes a ruffly pink and white polka dot sleeve peered out, taunting me. I dug through the clothes and what did I find?
You guessed it. I'd bought the same outfit twice! I looked back and forth from one hand to the other like I was waiting for something to change. Nope. I'd have to head back to the store to return one of them. But not then. I'll do it later.
Stop back next Tuesday and I'll tell you about my return policy.
Also, please check out Fork It Up Fridays when I'm going to share a delicious summertime drink (yes, with alcohol).
P.S. In my previous Tuesday's post when I talked about the hose versus me, the hose has won. I went out last night to water my flowers. There about 3 feet into the hose was a bulge. On further examination, I saw a slice. Back to square one.
xoxo
I have a love-hate relationship with garden hoses. They're hand for obvious reasons, but boy do they have a mind of their own. Those suckers can twist and kink to the point it can make a grown woman cry. Or, in my case, invent new cuss words.
A few Saturdays ago, Mr. Rutland and I were on a quest for a new hose caddy. A week earlier, I had purchased a new hose, but when I went to replace it on the old caddy, I realized that needed to be replaced too.
So off we go to a local home improvement store that for this story I'll refer to as "L's." Now the Mr. and I aren't tightwads, but like most people we want to spend as little money as possible. A replacement hose caddy like the old one would set us back $79. No way, we agreed. So after a much longer than needed search at L's, we agreed on the the one on sale for $19. With excitement building as we head home (yeah, I know what you're thinking--it doesn't take much for these two), we skip to the backyard with our shiny new hose caddy. The Mr. hooks up the new hose and let's her rip. As soon as he turns on the water, the dripping begins. I add a few suggestions, which he executes, and the dripping turns into leaking. The leaking turns into an outright massive spraying. My wifely duty suggests I let him know that the hose is leaking. By the look he gives me, I know I've been a smart ass helpful.
After some inventive cussing from the Mr. (go, honey!!), he disconnects the hose, grabs the cardboard insert that had been attached, and drags the soaking, dripping thing to the car simply stating, "We're taking this *&^%$ back."
Once again, we arrive at "L's." No words are needed as to why we are there when he places the dripping caddy onto the return counter. We go back to the hose section for round two. Nothing interests us. I suggest we go to "HD", which is just across the street.
There we hit the jackpot. We found the perfect caddy at $39, guaranteed not to leak. We share a private laugh, each of us remembering the "no kink" hose we bought the previous year that kinked like the mother of all hoses. That piece of do-do hit the garbage can in record time.
We head back home, get the caddy installed and voila! No leaks. After we high-five each other it's time to roll on the hose. Things go smoothly for about, um, 2 seconds. That son-of-a-gun kinked and bucked and twisted to the point where we each worked at it in 5 minute intervals, which happened to be the time limit on our tempers. Finally, finally, we got it corralled.
I really wanted to use it to water my plants, but I was scared. I knew it wouldn't be as simple as turning on the water, pulling out the hose and spraying. But I channel my inner big girl. After a stare down with the hose for a few minutes, I'm ready. I sweet talk the hose as I unreel a few feet. I hum a happy tune as I turn on the water. And when I squeeze the spray nozzle, I've moved into prayer mode.
With tenderness, I squeeze the nozzle handle. Alleluia! Beautiful water shoots out! I aim it at my summer perennial bed. In seconds, the pressure slows to the point where I have a teeny, tiny stream of water coming out! I yell for the Mr. and he barrels out of the house. I hold up the hose with the little drip-drip of water. "It's got a kink," he says.
My hand quivers because it wants to point the hose in his direction, but I know he won't get soaked. I briefly wonder if any one's ever been choked by a garden hose. "Fix it," I boldly suggest.
So for the next 20 minutes, we unwind the entire 150 feet of hose to smooth out the multiple kinks we find.
And now? Now I'm afraid to use the sucker...
If you have any garden hose tips, I'd love to hear them!
Please stop back on Friday for a new recipe. Hint: It will be a yummy summer dessert.
