Bag Ladies

Friday nite, as work wraps up, I gather gather all the loot from this weeks SAMPLE SAAAAALES (there was also a Bagdley Mishka sale that I did not attend and deserve a medal for self restraint) and pack in up into a Cosco shopping bag with I had the foresight to bring to work. This bag is something that the Dugger family probably actually use to shop for groceries. Its capacity is larger than the trunk of my car! My shopper tote doubling as my purse is also filled to the limit. Add the bulk of the coat and I am a tank ready to brave the busy sidewalks, busy sidewalks dressed in holiday style! Allow myself extra time to navigate the walk of commuter shame to Penn Station. D3 is similarly saddled and we set off like two camels...or homeless bag ladies, more like.
The sidewalk is crowded with similar holiday victims and we trudge forward, our bags getting snagged on others' bags walking in opposite direction. The tourists, with their usual lack of consideration, continue doing their thing, walking together, slowly, and stopping unexplainably. Sheesh! D3 and I repeatedly have to maneuver around them, throwing hate daggers with eyes. At one point, I am slammed into the mailbox, having underestimated a matronly bag lady going in the opposite direction. D3 waits patiently for me to readjust and we keep on. Through all of this, D3 who is a real talker, entertains me with stories. We part ways at her Path entrance and I continue on. Having extra 5 minutes I stop at the wig store and buy a few beauty needs. Penn Station is teeming with desperate get me the fuuuuck home crowds and I am swept up in the swarm and carried onto my train where I collapse into an empty seat and pile my bags next to me in an unfriendly, unchristian, un-holiday, don't even think about sitting here message. I whip out the iPad and watch the Tudors. Somewhere in Seacaucus I realize that I timed the last cup of tea badly, and have a bladder situation. Ugh! I HATE commuting. Horrible horrible walk home from the station, trying to banish the shameful childhood memory of walking home in snow pants in deep snow, having to pee desperately, passing a playground that only had bare winter bushes and finally sitting on a swing, letting the hot pee go in my pants while the hot tears of shame rolled down my cold cheeks. Determined not to repeat the experience, I make it home where the cats solemnly watch my relief.
Off to rents house, where we have a family night watching the final season of Curb. Lolz. Sweet sleep in upstairs bedroom with doggies.


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