That was the text message I sent to Jim after realizing we’d committed to taking his mom to lunch followed by the Sycamore High School Craft & Treasure Bonanza Hoo-Ha during the Bears-Lions game on Sunday.
A craft fair, Hedy?
I know. But it was her birthday. And she loves the crap fairs.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Nobody’s here,” says the mother-in-law as we pull into a parking spot Right Out Front. “The economy is so bad nobody’s buying anything.”
Sure things are bad.
But I’m guessing people are spending what’s left of their hard-earned paychecks on cool stuff like iPhones or Halo 3000 or Leopard OS X Hoo-Ha and not on crocheted toilet paper covers or homemade potpourri that smells like your grandma’s 82-year old asshole.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Try this muff.”
“Heh?”
“Try this muff,” says Jim, pointing to a small sign sitting amidst a pile of fake fur.
“Don’t mind if I do!”
As if sidling through a gymnasium full of shit during the Bears game weren’t enough, I had to endure the decidedly unpleasant mental image of Jim ‘trying out’ the muff of the round, sour-faced woman sitting behind the table playing Sudoku.
“Worth the price of admission,” says Jim still laughing.
$2? Indeed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The majority of vendors at craft fairs are people with too much time and too little taste trying to sell stuff that no one, anywhere on the planet will ever want let alone need.
Don’t get me wrong. I love supporting local artists.
During what I consider the Craft Fair Heyday (mid to late 90’s) you could find a few nice things - a piece of handmade pottery or jewelry or folk art.
Unfortunately the really good local artists don’t go to craft fairs any more. They go to juried art fairs.
So all that’s left are the crafters – untalented postmenopausal matrons wearing ‘fun’ appliquéd sweatshirts and driving mini-vans with 'Crafty Lady' bumper stickers.
Remember my definition of hell? We’re adding crap fairs to that mix.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Do tell, Hedy.
What does my grandma’s 82-year old asshole smell like, exactly?
I’m guessing a snazzy combination of lavender, pine and Preparation H.
Unless her husband’s still alive, in which case we’re going with 80-something grandpa sack and PolyGrip.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Black Snake Moan soundtrack
I am reading: Atlas Shrugged – Ayn Rand
And I am: Full of crap
5 comments:
I had to attend a "home demonstration" on Sunday during the Bear's game - put on by a dear friend's sister. Unbeknownst to me, it was her first show. Also unbeknownst to me it was going to take three hours for her to have us sample little cups of dip. At the two hour mark - I kindly announced I needed to pick up my daughter. So I ask "Can I place my order on-line?" - "Why yes, but we are closing this party tonight." "Okay", I say, "No problem" - to which she says "But how are you going to pay?" - I said "With my debit card." - "Oh, I don't have that set up yet. Could you leave me a signed blank check?"...What??? So, I sign a check and make a quick dash out of there. Later that night while out to dinner with friends...my cell phone rings - it is my friend, whose sister had the demonstration....he says "Hi, my sister was wondering if you were going to place the order?"..I sat there for a moment and thought he was joking..nope.
So Hedy, on Sunday, you and I both had it tough.
Muff
I'll try it!
Too funny. One of my methods of atoning for, well, for being me, really, is by helping an octogenarian with working with her computer. I teach her how to find her email program, scan pictures, and use MS Word. Same lesson every month. She 'pays' me, but she and I both know that it isn't about the money for me. She pays me because her pride demands it, and I take the money because her pride demands it.
And her apartment has that typical 'old person' smell. Every old person's house I've been in has that same smell, except my grandmother's place, which smelled like feral cat piss and sulphur, but that's another story. It sounds so age-ist when I say talk about old person smell, but "lavendar, pine, and Preparation H" coming from you almost sounds nice. Even if you're talking about someone's aged rectum.
To which I say "Eww!" I get it, but "Eww!"
Upon further reflection, I have to ask which is worse -- going to a Crap Fair, or suffering through watching a Bears game this year?
I've been feeling for you. That Super Bowl hangover's a bitch.
Crap Fair is miserable, but you know you're eventually gonna get out and never have to go back. Bears season is more miserable because there's really no hope and it's not like we're moving to a town with a winning team any time soon. Point taken. :)
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