Stupidity and Nipples

Before I start, I should say, I don't think nipples are stupid. I remember when mine were functional and lactating all over my feet in the shower. Good times! They haven't gotten much use since I tucked them into my waistband.

Friday, I took the day off and went Christmas shopping. First trip was to Sport's Authority to grab Josh a Ripstick along with a roll of bubblewrap for his protection. They had it in blue, it was on sale, there was no line, and life was good....until....

"Ma'am, would you like to purchase the ECT?" I cocked my head to the side and gave him my confused puppy look. So he elaborated. "It's the warranty, where ya know, if anything, ya know, gets broken or falls off, they, ya know, pretty much replace it for free. But I'm not sure how much it costs." To which I responded "alrighty then, give me two of them!". Never trust a boy whose name tag reads "Tater".

Then off to Toys-R-Us to find his "#1 Santa list wish" .... the Screaming Banshee. Apparently it is on top of every child's wish list, because it is impossible to find, and Amazon is backordered for 6 weeks. So I found some Lego's and a flask holder for my bike and proceeded to the register. I swipe my credit card and sign the pen pad which always amuses me because my signature winds up looking like some heiroglyphics found on a cave wall. The girl at the register tells me she needs to verify my signature so she needs to see my card. I'm thinking, hey good luck with that, so I pull out my driver's license as well just knowing the two signatures are not even close. WRONG. Little girl stares at my credit card, stares at the receipt, stares at the card some more, stares at the receipt and hands everything to me and wishes me a nice day. I'm thinking, are you kidding me? I could be out popping mailboxes in the hood and stealing credit cards, signing them, and taking me a big fat rich lady vacation somewhere fo shiz!

If I ever get laid off my job, I know a job will await me in retail. Stupidity.

Having spent time at two stores, I could take no more. I like to pace myself. So I stopped by the bakery supply shop, picked up a gingerbread house kit, and spent all weekend with Josh and my 17-year old nephew, Danny, with his 17-year old smutty little mind, putting it together.

We erect (hehe, I said erect) the walls, glue 'em together with the frosting, and put the roof on. I then slather the frosting which is the consistency of toothpaste and non-spreadable on the roof. They are eating all of the candy while I am elbow deep in white goo.

Hey Einsteins, wanna stick some of the candy to the frosting before it sets up like concrete? So Josh is methodically placing his little gumdrops across the roof in a colorful pattern, and I look over at Danny's side because he's giggling to himself. He has two pink gumdrops sticking out of the roof. "Hey Auntie Heather, what's this look like?" Nipples. Josh says "those aren't nickels, nickels are silver!" OY!

So we get all the little stained glassed windows in place, the steps, the shrubs, the trees, the boy, the girl, the blah and the blah, and there was actually left over candy. So nipple boy decides he wants to spread the colorful little dots all over the cardboard base. So I slather the remainder of frosting which had to be thinned twice all over the exposed cardboard and he and Josh sprinkle the remaining candy around the house. Josh lets out a scream. "Danny, pick up the little yellow balls! Mommy told me never to eat the yellow snow!" OY! (again)

I need to find my ho kinda ho spirit. Oh here he comes, singing Jingle Bells at the top of his lungs.