we have returned from our memphis excursion. home always feels so yummy to come back to. you can leave your dirty underwear lying around, leave dishes in the sink until morning, pick your nose, leave those stray hairs in the tub, put the kid in the cage, and sit in your pajamas all day long. not that i do any of those things. but i could. if i wanted to.
we made the normal gas station pit stops for refueling, leg stretching, baby running, and beverage getting. and here is the god's honest truth. you can buy anything in a gas station.
you can buy fishing tackle, 50 pound stuffed animals, great big fat lethal knives, shot glasses, tiny glass teddy bears, t-shirts with wolves screen printed on them, stickers that say: "bet my house is faster than your car", silk flowers, beer huggies, rebel flags, ceramic eagles holding rebel flags, dolphins that light up, plastic cow skulls with indians on them, alligator heads on magnets, and most importantly, 15 inch tall fiber optic angels with mechanical flapping wings.
and here is another god's honest truth: you should DEFINETLY NOT ever EVER buy any of these things. ever. in fact, you should never buy a ceramic statue of a wolf or dolphin or dog or angel or teddy bear or eagle or anything else you might find in a gas staion. period.
it was just as i spotted the awful horrid disgusting 15 inch tall fiber optic angel with mechanical flapping wings and whose face contained the expression that said she was so sorry she was available for purchase that two women, one wearing a t-shirt with a wolf printed on it, the other with really bad bangs, went over and ogled her with serious admiration.
"oooh, ain't dat purdy! eee'd go gud wid dem other purdies i gots own ma trinket shelf." her friend with the bangs agreed. and then her friend with the bangs decided the fiber optic dolphins posed over badly airbrushed waves was of much better taste.
i stood in awe while benji tugged at my arm and repeated, "get the baby and come on." as i was getting the baby and coming on a woman and her child passed me. the woman said, "holdon, let me go luuk over der. i thought i saw me a wolf own sumpin."
inwardly i groaned. i groaned good and loud because i know that this poor tasteless woman's home is filled with wolves. ceramic wolves, wolf t-shirts, wolf flags, wolf pins, wolf posters, wolf mugs, and i wonder. i wonder if she's ever met a wolf. what happened in her life that gave her such an affinity for wolves?
what is it with the collectors? the obsessors? and why do so many of them have such bad taste? why do so many of them have dusty fake flowers sitting in plastic painted gold half pots that hang on the walls? why do so many of them have so many t-shirts with puffy paint kittens on them? how is it that their head just stops on some one bizzarre thing and then suddenly believes it is the epitome of beauty? and why then do they literally drench themselves and their houses in said thing? i just don't get it.
i know. who am i to judge. i know this. i do. but gas stations, man. i just can't help it. if gas stations are going to sell 15 inch angels with fiber optic flapping wings well, i would appreciate a little warning sign or something.
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