Well, if there is a definite "sign" that we no longer live in Massachusetts and now live in Texas, this would be the one. Last weekend, when we went to Tractor Supply Co., to buy the monstrous bags of pellets for our goats, both London and Haven almost gave birth to foals the moment they walked into the store upon discovering there was a toy aisle. A toy aisle in Tractor Supply Co., you ask? Yes. A toy aisle amongst an endless sea of John Deere green, cowboy boots, feed and water troughs, dickie coveralls and anything else Cletus the slack jawed yokel could ever hope to imagine.
There were horse, cow, goat, donkey, dog, cat, and chicken calenders, all types of plastic horses in every size, paint by number kits complete with chalky, white ceramic horses, stuffed animals of all the previously above mentioned animals (again in all sizes,),..... and as Haven discovered the "mega-size" purple and white horse on the very, very top shelf, she exploded with high-pitched cries as she leaped and jumped about like a salmon swimming upstream. It's not enough that my children's rooms (and my entire house for that matter) is in a constant state of stuffed animal chaos and confusion,... it's just that London and Haven have so many stuffed animals that I seriously need a backhoe just to clear off their beds each night. But according to them, there is always room for "just one more!"
There were giant, wooden barns in boxes bigger than a 52" TV box lining the floor under Ponyopoly, Farmopoly, Fishin'opoly, dogopoly and London's all-time favorite - Horseopoly. Out of the corner of my eye I watched Geoff cowardly sneak away to "load up the shopping cart" with the bags of pellets we came for, while I was left to monitor my girls as they had continual spasms discovering new and "cooler" things further down the aisle. I take it back,... there was not "a toy aisle," as in singular - there were about six toy aisles total. As my girls shouted out an unorganized and jumbled list of what they wanted Santa to bring them for Christmas, my brain began to hurt. Finally, I borrowed a blank piece of paper and a pen from the cashier with the piece of straw protruding from under her obvious overbite and followed my daughters around like their own personal butler. Anything I could comprehend, I wrote down. All in all, my bill (should I actually buy everything they told me to write down) would have come very close to the amount of the recent Banking Industry Bailout.
There were a few things Geoff was pointing out to me that he would like. Some insulated gloves, a welder and of course the fancy little crop he kept smacking my butt with. (Men!) But when it comes to me, I'll stick with a massage, some new perfume, a gift card to a different, more fabulous type of store or possibly simply a new CD or two. I can tell you one thing,.... there had better not be anything from Tractor Supply Co., under the tree for me! And honey, if you happen to be reading this,.... especially not the fancy, little butt crop!
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