Smiles For Miles

Today is a sweet glorious day that happens twice a year.  Smiles for miles, day.  A day where women squeal and men roar with glee. An excuse to buy, day. Decorate your bottom, day. Throw out your old crunchy panties and upgrade to sparkles and fringe.   It's Victoria's Secret semi-annual sale, day.  It's where you find something extra saucy to wear on your bottom.  And it's a secret. You strut a tad more.  Smile for a few extra miles. 

I love smiles for miles, day.  I love having the excuse to buy something.  And I REALLY love smacking off the 12 year olds that try to steal everything in the bins that fit me.  What makes it even better is having a 7 year old talking non-stop about how she thinks that boo-coverer will fit and she doesn't like the design on the panties and on and on and on and this color and that lace and on and on.  And then there's Ed.  He would be screaming bloody murder, in his stroller clawing at my clothes that are now barely on me.  So, not only am I fighting the teeny-bops and trying to ignore the verbal and physical assault that is happening under my nose, but I also have to put up with all. those. judgmental. stares. of the perfectly pushed-up, long haired, tight-pant store workers.  As well as those snarky-toothed snarl glares from the 12 year olds.

It's like I want to get my stroller and run over those toes.  All those toes of those little 12 year olds who think they need push-up or lace on their buns.  Listen, kid.  You have to work to wear those.  You have to push a few babies out of Mrs. Needlemeyer and lose all the nice-ness out of your buns before you can wear some decorations.  You need to squirt milk for awhile.  Have huge wobbly nipples covered in stretch marks before you should EVER think about reaching for push-up.  I just want to smack their little fresh hands and show them the Fruit of the Loom aisle.  I need all the help I can get from Victoria and these little spoiled hussies are stealing all of my wedded bliss helpers.

This morning, we rushed.  I got the whip cracking.  Dressed AND fed and off to the mall by 10:15.  I was hoping that the little kids would still be in school and I wouldn't have as much of a competition versus going later in the day.  I looked.  And oogled.  And smacked my lips - imagining my smiles.  The smiles I would have for many miles.  And then I decided that Victoria was driving me nuts and I didn't want to spend another second with her.  So I left.  And went to Aerie instead.  Where I spent plenty of money and bought many smiles.

But the best part of THAT store is a story in itself.  I won't name names . . . But I went with a friend.  (It's much better to go with a friend)  And while I was in the dressing room, Murnice informed me that my friend's son had been scratching her arms.  Sure enough, her arms had red ribbons down them.  So I went blazing out of the dressing room and said, "awkward conversation, but your kid is scratching my kid's arms."  And she said NOTHING.  Her little lips pursed real hard together.  And her eyes squinted down, all nasty.  And then she flailed wildly for her son.  Grabbed his arm and finally said, "you can't go to the Lego store."  And then there was weeping and wailing.  A lot.  It was loud.  Really, it was more like roaring and snorting.  And then she said, "you need to apologize properly."  He tried to apologize, but there's too many snuffles and squeaks to be proper.  He tried louder and again.  And again.  And again.  And his mother kept saying, "that is not proper, do it again."  By this point I'm over at the register checking out, smiling nicely.  And then I hear a ear shattering rumble.  A knee-quaking yell that went like this "I'M SORRY I SCRATCHED YOUR ARM".  Not once, but twice. Twice the giggles I got.  The whole store listening and snickering and getting extra smiles.  It was like a 2-fer-1 sale.  End of story within the story.  My favorite part of the day.

So when Big D got home, I sang a song about smiles for miles.  And maybe added in a dance.  Pulling each item out slowly.  Twirling them around on my finger for extra emphasis.  Flashing the lace.  And when I was all done, Big D was not smiling.  I believe his words went something like this: "wow, this is why I should be buying your underwear.  I hate them".

Don't be offended readers.  This is exactly the way the story is to play out.  I buy what I want.  Comfort. Pleasant comfort.  Big D gets annoyed with the full-coverage purchases and then he goes out and buys MORE smiles for miles.  I get a double dose.  Comfort smiles and hussy smiles.  I could not be a bigger winner.

Take Aways
1)  Everybody should have some panties that make them feel like a queen.
2)  If you can't find smiles at Victoria's, don't give up.  Look somewhere else. But not Fruit of the Loom.
3)  Does anybody else get annoyed when their husbands resort to talking like they're 12 on the phone.  "Yo man".
4)  I seriously crinkle my nose to that kind of talk.
5)  Two people have told me that they have written a comment to a post - but it's not there.  So, if you have written a comment you should take a double peaksy to see if it's there and then let me know if it's missing.
6)  Seasoned bloggers - any tidbits about what could be wrong?