Lost in Antarctica

I have just returned from an adventure at the Really REALLY Big Discount Store. You may know it well. The turn-out there after midnight can be quite frightening and appealing at the same time.

But I am not that brave today, so I ventured out during the middle of the day to find myself contemplating potted poinsettias before Thanksgiving, and standing in line for a REALLY long time. It was somewhere near the Duck Dynasty paper holiday plates and children's toys that kept yammering at me when I passed, that I realized I was talking out loud to myself.

Fine. I've pushed beyond the boundaries of sanity and all it took was a trip to the Really REALLY Big Discount Store. There may be a good reason for pondering out loud over fake chambray shirts and candles that smelled like wood smoke.

First, the mere size of the store is daunting. I used a map to make my way through the aisles, something akin to what boat captains use to navigate shipping lanes.

That was after I hiked through the treacherous parking lot with its many, many Really REALLY Big vehicles. You know the ones. They have names like Adventurer, Armada, TankerShip and ReallyREALLYBigSUV. They are notoriously driven by petite mothers hauling a lone, wispy child in a car seat. I always think the child looks forlorn with a face that screams, "Help me! This vehicle is TOO big."

My haul for the day?  Butter, coffee creamer, garlic bread and a hefty bottle of windshield wiper fluid. (As if that will save my aging Volvo sedan.)

Why do I go there? Well to save money, of course. Isn't that why we all go there to save on four pitiful items?

I'm positive I've saved enough for my daughter's college tuition now.