The Power Shop

One day while we are at the cottage, we awake to light rain and a dismal forecast.

Scott had taken his daughter home to the beach so that she could go to work as scheduled. Your first year at the boardwalk amusement park is a pivotal one. If you don't demonstrate reliability and punctuality (not to mention the will power to refrain from using your cell to talk or text for an entire shift) in your first year, you aren't likely to be hired the second. And it is a primo job. Cute uniforms, boys galore and all the free rides for family and friends you like. It's your first taste of power. Don't screw up.

So Hil and Pat and I lazed around a bit in the morning and once lunch had been prepared and eaten, I broached the mixed-review subject of Back-to-School shopping at the Outlet Mall.

Hil is immediately in. Hand raised, jumped in with both feet. I swear she'd volunteer to do the driving if she could. Her mother's child. Every cell.

Pat has conditions, natch. If we go to the outlet mall we went to last year, and if the Nike outlet is still open, and if I will let him get sneakers for school, and if I will stop trying to get him to buy white sneakers, he will go with us and cooperate by not objecting and by holding ever increasing armloads of bags as Hil and I shop ourselves to the point of needing IV fluids.

Hil runs to change into a dressing room ready, frequent wardrobe change friendly outfit designed to maximize opportunistic shopping with streamlined efficiency.

Pat puts on socks with his sneaks. Done.

I say a silent novena that I manage to retain some small portion of my net worth.

We take to the car. My GPS, dubbed Betty, or rather Scott's GPS, donated generously to me due to my being directionally undertalented, does not recognize the street address of the outlet mall of choice.

I try a "points of interest" search.

There are several outlet malls you could swing a cat and hit, and all sound inviting, but none of them are the one we seek (as part of the devils bargain with Pat). Our trip appears to be doomed. Pat has his hand on the handle of the door to my car. Ready to throw in the towel.

I click the locks to keep him in.

Wait one more minute. I have an idea. In the reviews of our intended mall, some disgruntled cheapskate whined that the real deals are actually 2 blocks away at another outlet mall.

I search on Betty for the neighboring outlet mall and bingo! I have a route. I head in that general direction and confidently assume that I will be able to follow the scent of smoldering bargains to the mall we want.

Let the fleecing begin.