I can honestly admit that I’m not one of those impulsive people who acts on every whim I get.
I’m a planner. A saver. Take the Key West vacation for example. A hotel was booked in March (after reading an extensive amount of reviews and searching many different websites for the perfect, hotel that was a combination of nice and cheap) for my July vacation. Once that was done, I began researching activities to do. Although…I didn’t have to research any bars…
Rubbing my chin I wonder what this means...Any insight would be helpful.
I have my next big purchases planned – a Macbook in September and a REAL Chloe Paddington in January 2009 (possibly earlier if the cards actually fall my way for a change).
I think it’s obvious that I have impulse control.[1]
However my sister wouldn’t know impulse control if it jumped up slapped her tits and then bit her on the ass.[2]
Need more evidence? See her closet: True Reqligion and Armani jeans, Steve Madden heels, Jessica Simpson heels (I know, I know), and contemporary designer tops that would make ANY fashionista proud (And yet I still find her trawling through my closet…). Thanks goodness she has some sense and knows to refuse to a credit or debit card. I could only imagine the bill.
Anyway…Moving along…
Yesterday the HKs met the father at a local Mexican restaurant in town. And yes the two sisters had margaritas. One for me and two for Andrea. So, we’re driving home and recanting different stories. We talk about Kevin and his altar ego who can jump eight-foot privacy fences when drunk which leads to the earthquake.[3] Mind you, Andrea was more than a little pissed off that she heard the story from our mother who was in Washington D.C. at the time of the quake. I know she’s upset that she missed that rockin’ and rollin’ great time during the middle of the night. These and more are the great stories we’re recanting as we drive past Igleheart ballpark.
“We need to go home and play kickball in the backyard,” she says.
“I’m not playing kickball in the backyard,” Kevin comments.
“Do you have any idea how many pauses in the game there’d be as we went to find the ball?” I ask.
“So kick it easy,” she says.
“Kick it easy?” Kevin chides. “Half the fun of kickball is blasting the ball as hard as you fucking can.”
“Yeah, grounders are only fun playing softball or baseball. Not kickball,” is my response.
“So, let’s go home and hit some grounders.”
“The backyard has been treated for fleas,[4]” I tell her.
“So, the front yard. Yeah,” Andrea says suddenly all child-like innocence. “Kevin, hit me some grounders in the front yard!”
And this is how we wind up at Target as Andrea scours the aisles. She finds a pre-school ball and bat set featuring Dora the Explorer.
Kevin scoffs and says, “I’m not hitting with a Dora bat.”
“Yes you are,” Andrea quips. And she did quip, she didn’t slope (the insides are starting to get the best of me. Apologies.).
“Fine, let’s just get the hell out of here,” he says and his tone clearly implies that hit grounders to his inebriated impulsive older sister with a Dora bat isn’t high on his list of priorities.
“Wait, I need a mitt!” Andrea says pulling her arm out of Kevin’s grasp.
“Not with that ball,” he retorts. “That’s a set for toddlers. It doesn’t hurt their hands, so you’ll be fine.”
“Then I’ll get another set,” she says.
Andrea goes and searches out another aisle, this one in the sporting goods and not pre-school toys section and finds a mitt for $19.99 that is pink and white (v. cute and her size) and a pink and white ball to match. One look at the LB’s face will tell you exactly how thrilled he is with this. Oh well, it’s the shit you have to suffer for when you go out get drunk and rubbed up on at a bar then have to call your sister’s for a ride home.
In total, her purchase is a little over thirty dollars. This is due to the fact that she snuck in another ball, this one white and green and some candy and gossip magazines.
As she hands over her money to pay, I ask her “Is this why you’re always broke?”
“Yes,” she says and then thinks for a second. “It’s also why I offered to pay you back in installments for our car insurance.”
“So, instead of getting the full amount, I’d get a hundred one week, possibly another hundred in two weeks?”
She gives me a dirty look that clearly says I hate you, but doesn’t have much time to remark back because the clerk is counting out her change. We all then pile into the car, stop at the liquor store (perfectly normal to do on a Monday night) and head for home.
It must be noted that as soon as we came home, we picked back up playing Rock Band. Andrea got pissed because if we wanted to earn money, she needed to play on medium. She had no choice but to acquiesce since she likes the cute outfits so much. Thankfully, I saved my specials and was able to “save her” the couple of times she failed getting the hang of the added blue button (her pinkie doesn’t bend like that). With more money in the bank, she bought clothes for her guitarist, Weenis before putting in Eurotrip and watching it before we headed to bed.
Now, question for you. Was the mitt and balls a good buy?
[1] It should be noted that this applies to shopping, planning, and scheduling because I hardly ever pass up the chance to make an ass out of myself, i.e.: Two Morons on a Hot Tin Roof.
[2] I KNOW this must be hard for some of you to swallow.
[3] These stories will come at a later date. Both are so brilliant that I need to properly ponder them before I begin to put together all the aspects of the stories so the reader can get full enjoyability out of them.
[4] And I’m going to pray to god that they’ve been taken care of now.
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