I like typing the words "flip flop".
Being in a store surrounded by a shopping frenzy was hard. Maybe similar to the way they describe the smell of blood to a vampire in Twilight. Don't lecture me, I held out forever, then read all four books in a week. Good character development, horrible writing- except for the description of how shopping, I mean blood... smells to a vampire.
The madness that happened at Dollar Flip Flop day is in my history, and strongly rooted in my DNA, which is why I need intensive therapy and possibly inpatient therapy or maybe to be heavily medicated.
These types of excursions are legendary in our clan. Up early, at the door, waiting for the sale. Pre-blog, I would have been right on board. It goes way back to the days when my mother and my aunts would go "junking", which is an alternative term for "garage-sale-ing". I hate garage sales. Check that, I hate to have them, I really love to GO to them. But they are dangerous for people like my family. Somehow we talk ourselves into the fact that yes, I really do need another set of ugly Corning Nesting Bowls for a dollar.
One of the more legendary early morning trips was to a store called Tuesday Morning. I was there early and shoved up against the heavy metal door. When it went up I sprinted under, not conscious of the fact that if it malfunctioned, it would crash down and cut me in half. I'd seen some cute Curious George Barbie Dolls in their flier and I was gonna get me some. They had four on the shelf and I swooped them into my cart. As I swaggered around with my loot some woman came up to me and had the gall to say, “do you really need all those.” Why yes, because I’m an aholic-shopper.
And I'm blaming my family. Here is the 3rd generation shopper with the flip flop take for my mom, daughter, boyfriend's daughters, and my sister. DNA folks, it might be what takes me down...
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