On Friday night I went to the mall with Matt so he could finish his Christmas shopping. He was a man on a mission, as evidenced by the fact that not only did he come armed with a list, but that we went to Sears (twice), Macy’s (also twice), the watch store, Hallmark, and the bookstore in a span of about thirty minutes. It was a trip that defied all laws of science and shopping.
At one point, as we traveled from Macy's to Hallmark at a speedy rate of about 45 miles per hour, I convinced Matt to stop for a few minutes so we could watch the kids sit on Santa's lap. Then I told him about how Stacy and I make bets about which kids will cry. Matt and I only ended up watching for about 45 seconds because he failed to see the entertainment value or Christmas spirit in the activity, and plus, TIME-IT WAS A WASTIN'. We didn't even get to see any criers.
Our final stop was Books a Million. I stood beside Matt as he paid for his purchase, and suddenly a stack of bright blue flyers on the other side of the counter caught my eye. I was able to spot the unmistakable scrawl of the Chick-fil-a logo, and I thought I saw dotted lines in the shape of a square at the bottom, which everyone knows means COUPON. It was like Christmas had come early and in the form of discounted fried chicken.
I got carried away with fast food enthusiasm, and reached all the way across Matt and half of the counter so I could get my hands on that coupon jackpot. In doing so, I experienced a true moment of dainty, ladylike grace. At the very moment that I lunged for the Chick-fil-a coupon, the rather large button on the bottom of my coat decided that it had finally had enough. And it burst right off in an angry, dramatic fashion.
I took it as a sign that perhaps I didn’t need to be making any stops for a deluxe chicken sandwich or half a pound of waffle fries, coupon or not.
Matt and I decided to spend the rest of the night making a gingerbread house, because nothing says relaxing quite like assembling a structure with some giant cookies and frosting with questionable adhesive capabilites.
All the while, Rosie stayed close by and experienced quite the roller coaster of emotions.
The icing was very drippy (that's a techincal gingerbread term), which gives the house a hobo sort of feel. But I think it looks charming, and good enough to eat.
I won't be eating much of it though. After all, I can't afford to lose the two buttons I have left on my coat.