Christmas Shopping: Transforming Good, Christian Women into Sailor-Mouthed Buggy Assassins

Normally, on Black Friday, my husband is the one to get out and about early, and I sleep in. This year, things worked a little bit differently. He did his shopping online, and in turn, I got $45 Kohl’s cash to spend. Woot woot!

So last night, since he’s out of town, the kids and I headed to Kohl’s to do some shopping for cousins and friends. I triple check to make sure I've got my phone so I can access the Kohl’s cash e-mail on it.

We were there almost two hours. When I look back on it, it will be easy to remember the significance of the trip:  A REMINDER OF WHY I DON’T LEAVE THE HOUSE WITH THREE KIDS BY MYSELF. I always imagine it being the like Brady bunch going to serve cupcakes to the poor. Instead, it more closely resembles the house drop scene in “Wizard of Oz”, my kids being the house and me being a flip-flop wearing witch.

Bubby, who’s 11, is the kind-hearted shopper. He wants to buy the moon, Saturn’s rings and Elvis’s jacket from the '68 special for everybody he’s ever met. Don’t get me wrong…I’m so thankful that he’s loving and generous, but having to tell him 3,000 times that his substitute teacher from 1^st grade doesn't need a dog-walking, brow-tweezing, Cappucino maker makes shopping a little tiring.

Then here comes Rae-Rae, who is just dumb-founded at how much Chinese crap costs. I’ll put it this way. When we were shopping for Emma’s birthday last summer, I took them to Toys’R’Us. I knew it was expensive, but we were looking for ideas. She was big into Despicable Me then, and they had this minion toy that talked...for the bargain price of $59.99. 

Rae-Rae was absolutely disgusted by this. This poor sales lady comes over and asks us if we need help, and he guts her like a fish. “Y’all are not gonna sell these. When I come back in a few months, I bet they’ll be at least 50% off ‘cuz nobody’s gonna pay that. I mean, really? It’s plastic! Would you buy this for $60? Is there a manager I can talk to?”

EIGHT YEARS OLD.

(Just yesterday he brought home this shopping list from the Santa Store at school. When I asked him if he wanted to buy everything he wrote down, he said "God, no! Their prices are ridiculous!")

But on this particular Kohl’s trip, he wanted to find a coffee cup for his coffee-addicted teacher. (Well, she tells them its coffee. I've seen these kids in action, and I’m telling you, there’s got to be a little bonus in that cup every morning…bless her heart.) He wanted to get a Georgia mug but was deeply offended at how much NCAA junk costs. After doing his little cost-benefit analysis, he decided to go with the black, red and silver mug that was 1/3 the price. Good call, my boy.

Then you’ve got *shudder* Emzilla. She’s decided to provide the soundtrack for this joyous excursion.

“JINGLE  BAH, JINGLE BAH, JINGLE BAH WOCK…”

“Emma, you can sing, but please whisper; the mannequins are starting to twerk.”

“It’s da white time of da night time to knock yer wights away….”

Sweet baby Jesus, please get me to the check-out.

After being mowed down 27 times by the hatchet-faced, old woman stalking the Christmas villages, I’m pullin' a Flo Jo to the check-out.

“Here, Bubby, push the cart while I open my Kohl’s cash, please.”

OF COURSE it won’t open. I’ve got my weekly check-in from Prince Hubbida Bubbida in Nigeria--just checking on my bank transfer-- and a declaration of love from my Farmer soul mate, but the Kohl’s e-mail has disappeared. 

At this point, I’m convinced that these jerk wards have put up an impenetrable force field to block electronic signals and, consequently, e-Kohl’s cash. I’m standing here, all three kids acting a complete fool, and here comes Granny Hatchet again. It was all I could do not to tell Rae-Rae she stole a quarter from him just to see him bring back some of his football skills.

Fine, Mr. Kohl, I may be the loser here, but you’re gonna lose right now. I’M BLOWING THIS JOINT!

*stomp stomp stomp SMACK!*

Great…Emma has run into yet another glass door with her face. Fortunately, she was still rehearsing for the Christmas play so she just stutter-stepped and kept on singing.

“Woo-dolph the wed-nosed, weindee-ah, had a bewwy swimy nose…”

Fast forward…we plow through fogpocalypse and make it the 5 miles home…in 15 minutes. We get home, and of course, the garage door won’t work. @(#$*&!

We get inside, I throw dinner in the oven, and I go online to pull up the Kohl’s cash on my computer so that I can order the same Chinese crap online. Three of the five items I had in the store weren’t available online, so I have to pick substitutes. AWESOME!

I finally get the five gifts picked, and I go to check-out. All over their website, it’s screaming at me to use the promo code “CYBERSAVE” to save 20% on my order. Thank God! That almost makes up for the incident in the store.

Total up my order…$44.55 (phew, that was close!). I enter my Kohl’s cash code, and sure enough…with free shipping my balance due is $0.00! 

This is the only reason I’m buying from you, Kohl’s. You’re going on the poop list as soon as I get my free crap.

*Click, click click….enter code “CYBERSAVE”.*

“THERE WAS A PROBLEM WITH YOUR ORDER. PLEASE ENTER YOUR CARD INFORMATION.”

Are you kidding me? I have a $0.00 balance due with free shipping, and you STILL want my credit card information? Jerks.  I hope you spend Christmas in a small hotel room with Archie Bunker and Al Sharpton.

Fine…I’ll put it in. 

*Type type, clickety-click, CONTINUE…*

“THERE WAS A PROBLEM WITH YOUR ORDER. PLEASE ENTER THE CIV NUMBER FROM YOUR CREDIT CARD.”

I did, you spawn of Satan, dog licking, butt sniffing, monkey seducing son of a ...! Bless your heart.

*Enter card information for the 64^th time, enter promo code CYBERSAVE.*

“INVALID COUPON CODE:  THIS PURCHASE DOES NOT QUALIFY FOR THE PROMO CODE YOU ENTERED.”

I hope somebody superglues a rib-eye to your a$$ and brings Cujo over to frolic in the Autumn mist...and the pants you just pissed. I’m a Christian woman, but you have pushed me too far. 

So, three hours after leaving for a simple, fun shopping trip, I’m throwing stuff at the Christmas tree, popping chocolate-covered espresso beans like breath mints, and shooting at my laptop screen with a laser-scoped Nerf gun. I’m blowing off some steam, trying not to strangle the young’uns, when Rae-Rae comes up behind me and says “Mom, are you sure you got a good deal on that stuff?”

Father, forgive me for what I'm about to do. Can somebody gimme a "bless your heart"?