I've been thinking about it all day, and yesterday is making me laugh, and it's all a blur, and retracing the steps of yesterday is like reading a nonsensical choose-your-own-adventure where you end right where you began and in between you chose a whole lot of wrong ways.
It wasn't a bad day... just kind of nutso.
My sister came up so that we could go to this little sale that was going on down the road. It was a shoe sale. For some little shoes you might of heard of called Crocs. I guess we didn't realize how massively popular this sale would be. Nevermind that on the way I got lost (how, I don't know, since I drive by this place all the time), but when we finally backtracked and found the place, the line to get in was 3 or 4 blocks long. I'm still curious how long those poor people waited before they got into the Crocs warehouse.
Well, with 4 kids in tow, waiting for what seemed could potentially be HOURS was not possible, so we made what was the next logical choice.
We visited the local humane society.
So we lugged the four kids in and window shopped. Oh, those cats and dogs were cute. I mean, if by cute you mean barking, gnarling, lurching-at-the-windows kind of dogs, and scratch-your-eyeballs-out-if-glass-weren't-separating-us cats. This one cat who I complimented on her cuteness, SCRATCHED me through the 1/4 inch opening. I quickly withdrew my compliment and named her Beelzebub. Most of the dogs were those lovable mix-breed pitbulls, so there was no doggy cuddling involved. (Although droopy-eyed Jethro [not a pitbull] was kind of cute.)
But we couldn't leave without introducing our kids to one of the sweet kitties. We carefully surveyed their cages to pick the cat that would certainly be the one our kids would love. Wilma was the winner. (Her information tag said, "Wiiiil-maaaaa!" It made us laugh.) So after Amy had to hand over her driver's license, a blood sample and complete a background check, we earned visitation rights with Wilma. She was sweet for the first 20 seconds and then decided that confinement in her cage was far better than constant attention from 3 girls under 5. Thanks to Amy's devil-cat, CC, my girls think that cats don't "meow" but instead hiss. Seriously. Well, good 'ol Wilma didn't let them down.
And thus concluded our visit with Wilma. And Amy was bleeding by the end of it.
We left and drove by Crocs again and it was still a madhouse.
So we went to lunch at McDonald's. We narrowly escaped pee-fest 2009 since we were packing up just as a little girl wet her pants in a high tunnel, resulting in a 15-foot tall dripping waterfall of urine. Awesome. We reported it to the counter since the dad took off faster than you can say "Lysol."
Eventually we went back to the Crocs warehouse where the line was down considerably. We only waited about 20 minutes (maybe more) before getting into the warehouse where it was a ZOO. If you're local, this sale goes on through Sunday, so maybe you'll want to brave the crowds. Most pairs were $10, but by the time we got there it was fairly picked over. They do restock every day though, so maybe it pays to go early.
But guess what happened? Emma took off her sandal to try on a shoe... AND LOST IT. She lost her shoe among the millions of Crocs in the place. She walked around barefoot for the next 6 hours we were there (it felt like it) and the bottom of her foot was BLACK. Amazingly, we found her shoe just as we were leaving. It was on the stroller the whole time. Super.
In the end we got some Crocs for a good price, although we left with a modest loot compared to the people leaving with multiple trash bags full of shoes. I was so indecisive about what to get, we were tired, it was hot and stuffy in there, people were pushy, kids were cranky... by the end I just wanted out of there. Although I walked out the door with buyer's remorse, wishing I'd gotten different colors or an extra pair or...
All that hassle, and you know what? I think Crocs are ugly!
But the girls love them.
And okay, now I own a pair.
I think we could've bought 49 pairs of Crocs and Gary would've just been glad we didn't come home with Wilma. Or an actual Croc.
Which reminds me, Emma thinks it's strange that they're called "Crocs" when there's an alligator on their logo. She thinks they should be called "Gators." What a nut.