From Waffles to Wickedness

The rest of our trip is fabulous. Hil gets her vintage on and Pat finally, at our last stop of the shopping tour of Gettysburg, finds an authentic actual rifle that has been stripped of it's firing hardware. It weighs a ton. It is very cool. The guy at the shop spends loads of time with him showing him how it is carried and telling him how to be safe. Not to take it out of the house. Warning him that even though he knows it can't hurt anyone, other people will think that he is armed.

I am not so naive as to believe that Pat is all that anxious or willing to comply. But it would be hard not to. That is why I insisted on a full sized rifle if anything. A replica pistol would be out of the house in the backpack in a matter of minutes and I'd be retrieving him from the principal, the police station or worse by the end of the week. A rifle that comes up to his shoulder is not that easy to sneak out of the house. It would have to be a pretty big back pack! And it would be seen from a mile away. And people would be calling me as soon as they saw it. It will stay in his room. That's the deal.

On Saturday afternoon, we head for home. Scott is coming to our house after dinner when his daughter finishes her first day of work this season on the boardwalk at the beach. It is a gorgeous day. I go home, open windows, spruce up the place and open my mail.

I have a sale catalogue from Kohls and page through it absentmindedly. But when I peel off my special bonus discount sticker I am on my feet and ready to shop again. Thirty percent off and I already have $10 in Kohls Cash. And it expires today. Oh no it won't!

Pat was a big fan of our complimentary breakfast. Mostly because it had a neat little dispenser thingy that squirted out just the right amount of batter to pour onto a piping hot waffle iron and made a beautifully browned perfect waffle in a matter of minutes.

I used to love our waffle iron. I wonder what happened to it. No, I don't. Lars happened to it. He took it when he left, along with all the photo albums, all the CDs, all the toilet paper, all the laundry detergent and the entire contents of the liquor cabinet.

I don't know why I remain shocked by anything he does.

So I am immediately on a mission. To Kohls! To buy a waffle iron!

I am astonished, frankly, at the variety and price spread of these little gizmos. And, frankly, that Kohls has such an assortment of them! All shapes. All sizes. All brands. All features. I am overwhelmed. I need to thin the herd. I find a price scanner. No need to go overboard. I'll eliminate the grossly overpriced models first. I am not paying a fortune for an appliance that does exactly one thing.

I scan the first super deluxe model. One hundred dollars. For waffles? Next!

I carry the box back down the aisle to the end display from where it came. I turn the corner and inadvertently almost slam into someone standing there, too short to be seen above the boxes.

I move the box to my side to apologize, and as I do, I realize that the person I've nearly run down is none other than J.' s wicked mother.