The Junk Drawer

On Saturday I had to run to the store to pick up a bunch of things. Among them, salad dressing, paper towels, hot dog buns, pickles and a blog post.

I grabbed the first couple items and moseyed on toward the pickle aisle.

I selected a small jar, but put it back down for something bigger. When I picked up the next jar, I changed my mind again and put it back — atop another jar on the shelf, as they’d been stacked two-high.

And then, what charted in as the 78th stupid thing I’ve done this year, my finger slipped.

Ruh-roh.

I knew as soon as I withdrew my hand the jar was going down.

Down, down, down it went and all I could do was watch for the inevitable crash, the broken glass, the wayward pickles and juice splattered a la Jackson Pollock.

Awww, crap.

I parked my cart over the mess of glass bits, juice and pickles. So many pickles! All of whom I’m sure suffered massive internal injuries from the fall. I warned fellow shoppers about the glass and to be careful. A girl of about age 10 looked at me with such scorn, I the Pickle Killer, Destructor of Glass Jars, Spreader of Pickle Juice.

I set off to flag down a store employee so I could admit my klutziness and make sure it got cleaned up. For a moment, I wondered whether I should say “Someone dropped a pickle jar down there.” I could blame in on that mean girl who was still in the aisle. But I opted to fess up completely and announce to the cashier in lane #8 that it was I who dropped the jar.

She asked “Where?”

“Um. The pickle aisle?” Where chunks of glass will cut people’s feet and if you don’t hurry I’m going to cry and run away and never come back, do you hear me?!

I dutifully added “Aisle #1.” I threw in an “I’m sorry” and headed back to scene of the crime. I still needed pickles.

I didn’t even know what kind to take, flustered as I was. Should I even continue shopping in this aisle?  Can I pretend like this didn’t just happen and say to other shoppers “Oh, look what someone did! Tsk tsk.” What’s the protocol here? Do I stay and guard the mess until someone comes to clean it?  Somebody help me!

All those questions gave me a headache and so I just grabbed a jar — any jar — and scurried away.

Then I made the broken-glass, splattered-juice, injured-pickle walk of shame through the rest of the store, hoping no one would look at me and point “There she is! She kills pickles and cuts people with glass!”

I have never wheeled a grocery cart so fast in my life.

When I finished speed-shopping, I queued up to checkout lane #8 with the cashier who’d summoned a clean-up crew. She rang up my things and when she got to the pickles, I kid you not, she said “I’ll double bag them for you so they’re secure.”

Why? Because now you think I’ll drop pickles wherever I go? You think I’m a pickle-droppin’ loser whose face will be posted on the employee break room wall so that everyone knows to walk behind me with a mop and dustpan? Is that it?

I thanked her for her help earlier, took my change and slunk out of the store, possibly never to return without a bag over my head.

When my husband got home from work, he noticed the pickles on the counter and said “Oh, you didn’t have to get those. I was gonna get them later when I went to the store.”

Sure. Now you tell me.

Listen to me now and listen to me good.

No one — I mean NO ONE — should be found singing and dancing while vacuuming. But that was me while using my eagerly-awaited Dyson D25 All Floors vacu-suck for the first time.

It arrived with great fanfare on Thursday.

Easy to assemble, easier to use.

It picked up everything that wasn’t nailed down.

Cat hair, my hair, kitty litter, hairballs from three cats, crumbs, fuzzies and apparently all the dirt my carpets have held prisoner since 1997.

I’ve finished vacuuming my house. Want me to come over and do yours?

Behold, my beloved Dyson in action:

Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner!

Babs of Beetle Blog was the first to guess correctly that the What’s That object from yesterday was a boot spur.

I found the item in the woodworking shop of a friend of mine. He had all kinds of cool, antique, things in his shop hanging from the rafters (which explains all the dust on it that many of you pointed out). What keen eyes you have!

Way to go, Babs. You asked for the black cat bandaids instead of what was up for grabs. I’m nothing if not flexible. I’ll see that you get the kitty bandaids.

Thanks for playing and submitting such good and funny guesses, everyone!

And Cardiogirl? Six guesses? Maybe I’ll get you those cupcake bandaids simply because I’m afraid you’ll die without them.

Until next time!

I’m just under the wire for a What’s That Wednesday. I suspect someone will get this immediately.

I have one regular reader who should recognize it instantly. Do you wonder if I’m talking about you?

How to play:

1. The photo shows a small portion of a larger object.

2. First person to guess the object wins a Junk Drawer magnet and a box of cupcake, pickle or Jesus band-aids. Your choice.

Go!

What’s that?

I think we can all agree that Monday is the crappiest day of the week.

Not today, peeps!

Our Windy celebrated her 2nd birthday today with cake and curious visitors. The only downside is that when some of them saw how ragged Windy looked in her picture, they sadly proclaimed “Awww, that’s too bad.”

See?

It didn’t help that I hadn’t planned very well for the party and couldn’t get helium balloons in time to pick up before work today. So she got the Lazy Person’s version of party decorations. Lame balloons inexplicably shaped like light bulbs and no streamers or party hats.

Hey, at least I remembered the candle.

After I filled my belleh with cake, I decided to jump on the Zazzle web site to see if my delicious custom-made bacon shoes were due to arrive soon. I’d been tracking shipment for days, knowing a package would land on my porch this week.

I give you, the most awesome shoes known to mankind.

A little too big for my feet, but maybe if I fry them, they’ll shrink up to my size.

Admit it. You’re jealous.

Tuesday will be the happiest day of the week for me, as I plan to wear these babies to work tomorrow.

How many people do you think will try to have me committed?

Probably as many as will want to cut off my feet and steal them.

Hee.