The Impending Doom of Bathing Suit Season

 

Time to put down that cinnamon roll, get off the couch, and take action!

Nothing brings fear into the hearts of women—especially women who ate their way through the holidays—than the knowledge that in a few short months they’ll once again be faced with trying to cram themselves into the worst reality check device in history: The Bathing Suit.

If you’re one of these women, you know it’s all fun and games—and food—during the winter months, where you and your extra pounds can go incognito under oversized sweaters and bulky coats. But when that abundant consumption of muffins leaves you with a muffin top, it’s time to do something about it before the top button of your jeans shoots off like a rocket into galaxies unknown.

Of course, you have the greatest intentions. In fact, you have big plans to start your new diet and exercise regime next week, right after that big dinner party which is certain to soar you into a dress so large it could double as a parachute.

So fast forward to June, and you’re fatter than you were in February. All of those good intentions got washed down the drain along with the soda, cheese cake, and hollandaise sauce you clandestinely consumed. And now you’re left with the raw truth that can’t be avoided–or  covered up with a Big Shirt—you’ve packed on pounds as if you’re storing up for Armageddon.

You’ve resigned yourself to the fact you have no hope of stuffing yourself into that adorable little two-piece number you bought back in in early January, to inspire you to get in shape. With that in mind, you head out into the cold, cruel world of bathing suit shopping.

You enter the store and wince, quickly walking past string bikinis even too tiny for a mouse to wear with any decency. Then you head straight to the section where the one-piece skirted suits, with patented turbo tummy tightening, hang out.

After picking out a suit your great-grandmother would wear, you head into the chamber of horrors—otherwise known as the dressing room. You convince yourself all you’re going to do is see if you can fit into the insipid suit, without even so much as glancing in the mirror, then get the heck out. But unfortunately you develop some sick unreasonable need to sneak a peek at your reflection, because who knows—maybe the suit will make you look thinner…

Well, that was a mistake now wasn’t it. The suit most certainly did not make you appear svelte, as the tag trumpeting the power of the turbo tummy tightening design promised, but made you look like a sausage ready to burst. Add to that the infamous dressing room lighting—lighting so bad that it would make a  supermodel never want to appear in public again, and the three-way funhouse mirrors the store so nicely provided . If they want to sell clothes, especially bathing suits, they need to install extraordinarily dim lighting and  instant airbrush mirrors (imagine the fortune to be made with that invention).

Irritated beyond all reason, you hastily change out of the suit, charge out of the store, and go home to sulk over a plate of sugar cookies.

Like Ebenezer Scrooge, you’ve just been visited by a ghost—the Ghost of Christmas Pounds—to give you a glimpse into your future if you don’t change your calorie consuming course now.

Just some fat-free food for thought, for the upcoming month of February.

http://www.authorbonniedaly.com/

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In the all the glitz, glamor, and glitter of after Christmas sales, we’re bombarded with announcements of massive storewide sales, designed to lure us back into stores so we can continue to shop until we drop–as if we hadn’t had enough of that already. And just in case you happen to be completely in the dark about the true meaning of what a “STOREWIDE” sale is, allow me to explain:

A “STOREWIDE” sale excludes anything that is already on sale, anything that’s discounted, miscounted, or near the front of the store. Anything near the back of the store isn’t included either; including—but not limited to—anything between the front and the back of the store.

Any item that any of that store’s competitors sell for a higher—or lower price—is excluded. Stuff that you absolutely had your heart set on getting, specifically with that incredible storewide sale, is most certainly not included either.

Stuff you didn’t know you needed but decided you did once you saw it in the store – also excluded.

Valid only in the state of shopping confusion.  All taxes, mysteriously added higher prices, and standing in long lines to find all this out apply. See store managers for additional frustration.

http://www.authorbonniedaly.com/

The Procrastinator’s Countdown to Christmas

Think you’ve got all the time in the world to get your Christmas crap done?!? Think again…

 

First Weekend in November:  You smirk at all the Christmas lunatics who have: (a) already started their shopping, and (b) started putting up their Christmas decorations. Don’t these seasonal sickos have lives? Sit back and relax – you know you’ve got plenty of time.

Second Weekend in November:  Briefly you toy with the idea of getting started with your shopping—but why rush things—so you decide to stay home and watch TV, but every other channel has on a Christmas movie. Tossing your remote in disgust, you glance out the window and notice your neighbors are erecting what can only be described as a Christmas mini-golf course in their front yard. “Festive fools,” you mutter under your breath.

Third Weekend in November:  You have every intention to start shopping, but unexpected guests drop by who stay the whole weekend. In great, giddy detail they gush about not only being done with their shopping, but that their halls are decked as well. You consider decking them, but force a gracious smile instead.

Fourth Weekend in November:  Everyone in the house has come down with the flu.

First Weekend in December:  You finally start Christmas shopping on Saturday, and plan to spend Sunday decorating. However, you spend the entire weekend looking for that toy your child’s been begging for, only to realize it’s no longer available anywhere. You’ve got zero shopping done, and accomplish zilch in the decorating department. Slight panic begins to set in.

Second Weekend in December:  The biggest blizzard known to man or arctic beast blows into town. You decide it’s no big deal; you’ll just shop online for that elusive toy, and try to get in as much other shopping as possible while you’re at it. Yet as soon as you sit down at the computer the storm cuts the electricity. You move on to decorating, but it’s a bit difficult without any light to see what you’re doing.

Third Weekend in December:  On Saturday your child has a Christmas play, a Christmas pageant, and a Christmas party to attend. On Sunday you get to go visit your in-laws.

Fourth Weekend in December:  You have sixty-eight million things to do and only two days to do them in. You head to the mall to find everything pawed through, ripped open, and stampeded upon. You buy the least offensive stuff you can find, rush home, wrap it, and throw it under the tree. You notice the tree looks like someone put it up in the dark—oh wait, they did—but there’s no time to fix it now as you’re having a dinner party in three hours and haven’t even been to the store yet.

Later during the party, you confess to one of your guests that you haven’t found that toy your child wanted. She smugly looks down her seasonally satisfied nose at you and divulges that she bought it for her child back in early November, when it was available everywhere. You smile your best fake smile and make a mental note to never speak to her again.  Just then the lights on the tree blow out. You explain to everyone that it’s because they were last year’s lights, as you didn’t have time to buy new ones this year. Under her breath, you hear that same rotten woman mutter “Unfestive fool…”

The Moral of the Story: If you’re going to be a fool at Christmastime, it’s far better to be a festive one than the alternative.

 

http://www.authorbonniedaly.com/

https://www.goodreads.com/BonnieDaly

Christmas Shopping (a.k.a.The Nightmare Before Christmas)

 

Do you remember when you actually had to leave the house to do all your Christmas shopping, and you couldn’t just happily sit in front of your computer screen and do it from home? I remember those days well, and I’ve no clue how I ever accomplished anything back then other than Christmas shopping. There’s no way I’d have time to do all that now.

I recall never ending schlepping from store to store, squabbling over parking spaces, hauling heavy packages all over the mall, and standing in impossibly long lines—with blisters the size of golf balls—while someone coughed the latest germ all me just in time for Christmas. All this to find that special gift for someone who’d probably get it exchanged on December 26^th anyway.

Now it’s just a matter of a couple dozen clicks on the internet and I’m done. All the while I get to sit around in my ratty-looking pajamas—with even rattier-looking hair—sipping a nice hot cup of cocoa. Usually it works out quite well for me.

Although one particular online order would’ve been easier if I’d just thrown on my boots and hiked it up to the North Pole to get it directly from Santa’s workshop. It should’ve been simple enough; the site said the item was in stock and I already had an account with the store. All it would take was a few simple clicks and the purchase would be on its way—or so I thought.

I typed in my info and they told me my account didn’t exist. I knew it did, so I tried a couple more times. It still wouldn’t recognize it, so I gave up and signed up for a new one. They further informed me I couldn’t use that email address because there was already an account set up for it. Yeah, mine. With seemingly no other option, I set up a new email address and then, at last, I was able to proceed.

After I re-found the thing I was looking for I went to put it in my “shopping cart,” but their site froze, which happened over and over and over every time I tried. I considered going elsewhere online to buy it, but after all the darned time I spent setting up a new account—giving them more information than even my own doctor has on me—I was determined to see it through to the bitter end. Plus, I had a substantial store gift certificate from there to use on my purchase. A good long while went by, and then finally I was able to get the gift into my cart—although I think it would’ve been easier to try and cram a mid-sized sedan into a real shopping cart.

I then put in my credit card information, which surprisingly went smoothly. I was nearly done. All they needed from me now was my gift certificate code. This wasn’t one of those internet coupon codes, either—I had it in my hot little hands as I’d gotten from a prior purchase through their physical store. So, I plugged in all three thousand, eight hundred and sixty-five digits and an error came up proclaiming the number invalid. Since the number was longer than a football field I thought maybe I typed it in wrong. Nope. After a few more tries I realized the error was on their side, not mine.

Irritated to no end, I called customer service. After talking to a computerized operator and then being on hold for all of eternity—listening to Christmas music that sounded like it came out of a tin can, and getting “accidentally” hung up on twice—I was able to get through to a living, breathing person. A person who, of course, spoke very little English. After explaining my situation to her, she transferred me to someone else, who transferred me to someone else, who transferred me to someone else. Finally, I got through to a person who told me that the coupon was only valid in their physical store, even though the gift certificate itself said nothing of the sort. After I threw a rather un-festive fit over the phone, they decided to do me the greatest of favors and give me a different code to type in, which would take the same amount off that the gift certificate would have, had I been able to use it.

This should’ve been the end of the story; however, after spending an eternity on the phone with customer service, my order timed out and I had to sign in all over again. And this time—joy upon joys—the item I wanted was now “currently unavailable online.” I’d absolutely had it. I got dressed, got in my car, and went to the store with that rotten gift certificate in hand. After grabbing the item off the shelf and standing in line for longer than I’d been on hold, I finally got to the checkout where the cashier scanned the gift certificate. She gave me a cheesy look, paused, and then sneered as she said the following into the store’s speaker system: “Manager to the front, I have a woman here who just tried to get away with using a gift certificate she already used online.” While I wanted to crawl under a Christmas tree and die, several shoppers looked my way and shook their heads in disgust. Fuming, I waited for the manager.

When the manager finally came he was nice enough, but explained to me the scanner clearly indicated my gift certificate had already been used, that the scanner is always right, and I was probably just confused due to all the hustle and bustle of the holidays. At that point all I wanted to do was get out of there. So I quickly purchased the item—without the savings of the gift certificate—and left the store.

If it hadn’t been the season of good will—and a dozen or so people hadn’t been standing in line behind me to hear—I would’ve told him and that cashier exactly where they could’ve stuck the present, the idiotic scanner, and that gift certificate.

(excerpt from my book Christmas Madness, Mayhem, & Mall Santas, available at all major online bookstores)

http://www.authorbonniedaly.com/

https://www.goodreads.com/BonnieDaly

 

Adventures in Grocery Shopping

I don’t know about you, but I would rather wrestle rabid alligators than deal with the weekly trip to the grocery store. Nothing against the notion of shopping itself, but it’s a jungle out there, or rather in there.

For me, it usually starts as soon as I reach the shopping carts. Guaranteed, the first one I go for is going to be super-glued to the one in front of it. You’d think I’d learn and move on. But no, I stand there tugging and pulling until people stare; then I move on to a different one. The next one is either soaking wet, has a suspicious-looking tissue in it, or is one of those special carts that not only has a squeaky wheel, but also pulls to the left. The latter is what I usually end up with.

So I’ll start making my way down the aisles–my cart sounding like a hospital gurney as I try not to take out every display on my left–when I’ll inevitably hit the first of many road blocks, otherwise known as the aisle hogs. These are the people who don’t care if there are other shoppers in the store, don’t care if other people are in the aisle; and certainly don’t give a flying French fry if you can’t get by them. With cart parked dead center in the middle of an aisle–at a slant–they’ll inevitably stand there for all of eternity, staring spiral-eyed at the macaroni and cheese display. Even if I offer a polite “Excuse me,” it still won’t rouse them from their shopping-induced stupor.

I’ll also surely encounter The Old Home Week Committee. The members of this group feel it’s right and just to conduct the business at hand, usually the town gossip or news of Old Man Winkle’s hernia operation, by congregating directly in front of the busiest promenade in the whole store–the meat counter. Then I and several other weary shoppers, now hopelessly stuck in the committee-generated traffic jam, will swap defeated, knowing looks until the meeting adjourns sometime within the next century.

Speaking of the meat counter, without fail I always encounter at least one of the meat fondlers. These souls apparently need to be “in touch” with their carnivorous cravings, and therefore take it upon themselves to personally poke and prod every package of meat in sight, while I wait to find a break in the action so I can squeeze in and grab a roast. I’ve learned to be cautious here, for if I take something they’ve had their mitts on within the past five minutes, the fondler in question–still feeling the rights of first refusal–will shoot me a look that could grill a hamburger.

Then, without fail, there’s always at least one complimentary coughing kid whose mom could care less that a.) junior is going to end up sicker than a dog from being out, and b.) everyone else in the store is also going to end up sicker than a dog from junior’s germs. Yet mom happily takes her time, making certain junior has sufficiently hacked up the contents of his lungs throughout every aisle and smeared snot on every piece of produce.

By some miracle, I will finally get–more or less–all that I came in for and go get in line. By the way, I’ve finally figured out how grocery store managers calculate the number of cashiers they need at any given time. I had several hours to think about it during the last time I stood in a checkout line. They take the number of shoppers and divide it by seventy-three. Any additional cashiers left over get sent on break. At this rate, customers are lucky if the expiration date on their milk is still valid by the time they get to their cars.

The cashier/shopper ratio is only part of the hold up, as inevitably several of the customers in front of me will all have their own little set of issues to make the line go at the rate of a snail sliding over something sticky. There are the coupon queens, the check writers who left their ID at home, and the people who need at least eighteen price checks. Not to mention the long lost relative of the cashier, who feels the need to reminisce–at length– while she plunks down her ravioli, rhubarb, and ricotta.

Once it’s finally my turn at the checkout, there’s the epic question of who’s going to bag. Since baggers seem to be an even rarer species than the people in the “12 Items or Less” lane who aren’t mathematically challenged, it’s usually a face-off between me and the cashier. If I decide I’ve been through enough already, and have absolutely no intention of putting anything in a bag, I’ll end up feeling guilt as I’m sure the cashier hates the place even more than I do. If I’m determined to hold my ground, the cashier will purposefully be as slow as the maple syrup that will inevitably end up leaking in my bag. So usually I do bag–and I’m bitter about it–but at least it gets me out of there that much sooner.

Only to realize I forgot the milk…

http://www.authorbonniedaly.com/

https://www.goodreads.com/BonnieDaly

When Halloween and Christmas Collide

Nothing beats walking into your local mega-mart the first of October—on a day when it’s 87 degrees out—and being accosted by the results of Halloween and Christmas throwing up all over each other. Never mind Halloween’s almost a month away, but can’t they at least wait till children break in their back-to-school shoes before being forced into choosing their Christmas stockings?

This time of year, massively confused holiday sections display everything from fiber-optic reindeer, to choirs of motion activated angels, to moronically huge, inflatable snow globes parked directly in front of cheesy cardboard Halloween backdrops of haunted houses, dastardly pumpkins, and chainsaw wielding murderers on the lookout for their next unsuspecting victim.

Call me crazy, but seeing piles of Christmas stuff out this early, joining forces with a plethora of Halloween paraphernalia—when it still seriously feels like beach weather—is just wrong. It’s also bizarre to see folks shuffling by in their flip flops with eclectic combinations of candy corn, fake Christmas wreaths, and sunblock filling their shopping carts.

The stores also supply everyone’s eardrums with a wide variety of confusing holiday music. While children peruse the costume aisles, trying to decide what to go as for trick-or-treat, “Jingle Bells” rings out to one and all. When their mothers find themselves lured into the Christmas card aisle, “Monster Mash” is drilled into their brains. No wonder so many people just say “Happy Holidays” these days; no one’s quite sure what’s being celebrated when.

I’m not really one to talk, though. There was once a Halloween night several years ago that I still feel really bad about. First just let me say that Christmas decorating takes weeks at our house, and I was just trying to get a good head start—the day before Halloween. At the time I saw nothing wrong with it, but my son Cameron, who was five at the time, was far from impressed to see a three-foot tall Santa lurking in the living room next to a huge light-up ghost. Not to mention the animated nutcrackers looming over the jack-o-lanterns, while “Silent Night” played softly in the background. The poor kid’s still not fully over it and will probably need therapy till he’s twenty-three.

From that moment on Cameron put his foot down, and made me swear I’d never, ever again start decorating for Christmas until November. I reluctantly agreed. I do admit it was kind of weird to see Saint Nick and the Ghost of Trick-or-Treat Present making awkward small talk with each other. Maybe they could’ve found a way to bond if they’d only gone shopping together in their local mega-mart in the beginning of October.

“When Halloween and Christmas Collide” is an excerpt taken from my book, Christmas Madness, Mayhem, & Mall Santas: Humorous Insights into the Holiday Season, available through all major online bookstores.

http://www.authorbonniedaly.com/