I’ve been putting off writing all day because I feel like I have absolutely nothing of value to say. And I’m in a bad mood. But since I committed to NaBloPoMo, (which sounds like that 90’s rap group that sang Poison and Do Me) I have to complete my end of the bargain.
I’m pretty ticked off that Nike sweatshirts cost $60 at Dick’s. And those Nike Elite socks everyone’s wearing are like $14. What the crap!!! I’m happily wearing three year old socks that cost $10 a pack. And there were six pairs in that $10 pack.
My kids have obviously been doing steroids behind my back again. Because they look like cousins of Urkel in the pants I just bought in August. And at least a dozen of their socks have made-a-break via the underground railroad connected to my dryer.
So we had to go shopping. (I was in a pretty good mood before that.)
ME: “$14 for a pair of socks. This is out-freakin-rageous. They’re socks.”
JACK: “You should be grateful that we only have two feet. What if we were octopuses? I guess you’d be really mad.”
I had to laugh at the thought of a mother octopus dragging her kids around the mall, trying on eight-legged pants and eight shoes at a time. Really puts things into perspective.
ANDREW: “But the Elite socks are more comfortable. And Devin says they make you a better athlete. He has like 20 pairs of them.”
I instantly began to loathe Devin’s mom for giving in to the despicable pressure of consumerism. I know what Devin’s parents do for a living, which makes me want to ask to see one of their bank statements to justify this sickening sock indulgence. But that sort of thing is hard to work into small talk at the baseball field.
“What cute pics of your baby nephew! Do you have any of this month’s bank statement that I could look at?”
I’m mad that Nike has the audacity to charge that much…and that people are stupid enough to pay it. And that the kids Andrew hangs out with all have them…and that I’m not working right now and feel guilty for not contributing financially…and Katie had an expensive vet visit….and James desperately needs a new truck. And the dishwasher is acting weird again. There are so many bills to pay just to make it month by month. I don’t need the insult of high priced socks.”
And this BS about making you a better athlete? While they’re throwing out ludicrous claims, why does Nike stop there? They should say that their Elite socks can clear up acne and end bullying and get your mom to stop smoking crack and cause Israel and Palestine to become BFF’s. If they claimed stuff like that I’d be tempted to buy a pair just to reward the creativity.
I gave in on the Nike sweatshirts, but later (when I was shopping alone) bought the Target version of Nike Elites humorously called “Excels.” But I wasn’t fooling anyone. Andrew accepted them regretfully, like a man having to carry his wife’s purse through the stands at a college football game.
I’m sure next week, I’ll cave in and buy him the stupid Elites…after finding the Excels buried in the back of his closet. Because I’m just as weak as anyone else whose kid wants something. Maybe we should move to Uganda. I can’t imagine that they have these problems.
But for now, I’m still in a bad mood. Over socks, of all things.