I'm madder than a tightly-wound, nail-spitting, wet-hen, in a hornets nest!

After an extremely stressful day at work, I finally remembered a co-workers recent rave review of an expensive bra she had purchased at the mall, and I decided to stop and check the bras out. I found a style and color I liked, and it fit really well, so I bought it--at twice the cost of the most expensive bra I've ever purchased--and almost three times the cost of my average bra. In the process of purchasing this golden bra, I also signed up for the stores mid-March "Bra Event." Signing up consisted of  supplying the saleslady with my contact information: telephone numbers, snail mail and email addresses, and my name. Since I rarely go to the mall, I thought while I was there I would check out the costume jewelry, hats, and scarves--I'm in the process of looking for the elements of my costume for a Murder Mystery party I'll be attending in the near future.

While browsing, I realized a cop was standing in the ladies accessories section--and he was "watching" me! I have never stolen anything in my life--well okay, I did steal that small brown paper bag that Mama wouldn't-buy-anything-from-the-grocery-store-to-go-inside-it-so-I-could-take-it-home-honestly--but when Mama "discovered" the empty bag under my shirt in the parking lot, she whipped my 5 year-old butt and marched me right back inside to confess my sin to the store manager. Object Lesson learned!!! I never again even thought about taking anything that was not my own. In fact, I buy and use my own office supplies to ensure I don't mistakenly take home a facility pen or paperclip.

My Mama also worked in store security, and she drilled the following into my psyche: never wear bulky or loose fitting clothing when shopping; take off all jewelry prior to playing at a store's jewelry counter; and carry only the essentials when shopping (which means: only your wallet, keys, and phone--leave the purse , heavy/multi-pocketed jackets or coats, as well as any  tote bags etc. in the car).  I  still abide by those guidelines. Additionally, when I do carry a shopping bag, it goes in one hand and any unpaid merchandise I touch or pick up is only touched by my free hand. If an object requires both hands, I place the shopping bag on the counter and step away from the counter/bag before I use both hands on the stores unpaid merchandise. If I am trying on earrings, I hold only one of the pair up to my earlobe rather than actually try it on (I don't want someone else' "ear goo" in my ear--besides,  I'm scatter-brained and I fear becoming distracted and walking out the door with one of their earrings still hanging off my ear).  In short, I give store personnel and security absolutely no reason to ever suspect me. Therefore, when I realized the cop was "watching" me I got really pissed off.

In fact, I was so pissed off, when the bra saleswoman tracked me down--at the jewelry counter three sections away from the lingerie department--to "see if she had given me the flier for the upcoming bra event," I not only opened my bag to show her the flier and the receipt, I seriously considered taking the bra out of the bag, and shaking it with a flourish in the cops face, before placing it on the jewelry counter in his full sight--or better yet--I should have enlisted his assistance in holding the darn thing for me!

However, much as it pained me, I decided to play nice. I smiled and pretended I had no clue that I was being watched, then continued to saunter around the store browsing all sorts of stuff I had no intention of purchasing, and even though I didn't have time or the desire to go mall shopping, I entered the mall to do just that (I was shocked to learn that the Hallmark/Gift store that used to be two stores away is no longer there!). Then, rather than going to the parking lot from another exit point, I walked back to the offending store, and once again sauntered through it fingering all manner of merchandise I had absolutely no interest in, before exiting the store to my car--still fuming.

First, and foremost, I do not steal.
Second, do you really think I'm stupid enough to give store personnel my contact information, set-up a future purchase,  and purchase merchandise today with my credit card (which confirms at least the name I gave the salesperson)--prior to  stealing something from the same store?!  

Hey "Mall Cop," I'm neither dishonest nor stupid--but I am still angry...I think I've cooled down considerably, because I'm no longer tightly wound--correction--I'm no longer as tightly wound.

I'm a Writer..So Says My Manicurist

I had a manicure tonight and I was passed off from one guy to the next when a lady came in wanting a full set and needing it now. Normally I would have taken offense; however, tonight the Host first sat me with a guy at the front of the shop, in the hot evening sun. I don't do hot graciously. When, in order to accommodate Ms. FullSetNow,  the Host changed me to the guy in the back of the shop, out of the sun, I was okay with it. I actually preferred it. The Host, proceeded to give New Guy my instructions. New Guy repeated the key words, "manicure, buffed, no color." I assumed New Guy spoke broken, or no English, or he was not the sharpest cuticle cutter in the nail implement holder. I assumed wrong.

I placed my wallet and book on New Guys table. I keep my drivers license inside the wallet in a non-matching holder, rather than in the viewer on the side of the wallet. Cops and Retail Merchants want to hold the license anyway, and it's easier to either hand them the holder (Merchants) or remove the license from the holder (Cops insist the license be free of anything else). In the outside viewer I have kept a varriety of photos, reminder notes, or soon-to-be-expiring coupons in hopes of them cueing me to use them--I usually remember to check them the day after they expire.

Currently, the viewer holds the business card I printed for the Writers Conference I recently attended in NYC--the same conference where we were told to refrain from handing our cards or manuscripts, or anything, to the Agents present--if the Agents wanted us to contact them, they would give us their cards (I received cards from two of the three  Agents I "pitched").  So,  after having a rush printing job, delivered to the hotel the night before the conference, I ended up using my $10-turned-$60-cards as memo cards to myself, and passing a few of them out to aspiring authors, friends and family, and strangers on the street, as well as dropping one or two of them in fish bowls in hopes of winning a free "whatever" was being promoted by that particular fishbowl--usually a monthly contest for a free hotel stay or  meal. So far I've not won anything; however, I still have two-hundred or so cards left and hope springs eternal.

Near the end of the manicure New Guy looked at my wallet and uttered his first complete sentence of the night,  "You're a writer."

I was almost speechless--almost. And just a little ashamed of my assumption because the border of my wallet obscured everything except my picture, name, and email address--none of which conveys the fact that the card is in fact a marketing tool for pitching my as-yet-unfinished novel.   When I found my voice, I responded ever so humbly, "Why yes I am!" He then proceeded to tell me to write him a poem to get his wife back. Little does he know the only poetry I write are Limericks and Haiku's. Badly. Neither of which, even when done well, lend themselves to wooing a disenchanted lover back. I explained to him I am really an RN and I only write as a hobby.

He then stated I looked different from the picture. Since the picture was taken less than three months ago, and my hair, makeup, and clothing were almost identical to today's ensemble, (a black long sleeve sweater, which then covered a fuchsia scoop-neck top, and today covered a red v-neck top) the Qs that popped into my head were, "How do I look different? Better? Worse? Younger? Older? Fatter?Thinner? Happier? Sadder?" and the Qs continue to plague me even as I type this. I try to quiet those Qs as best I can, as I cling to the one really important thing he said...

"You are a writer." 

I guess staging the photo in front of a wall of books actually accomplished my goal:  to give me the appearance of being a "Book Person" in general....and dare I type it specifically?...An   Author!