So what lessons can I learn from last night’s experience at Westfield Marion?
I already knew not to go.
we're all making our own sense of things
So what lessons can I learn from last night’s experience at Westfield Marion?
I already knew not to go.
Is it just the general Xmas shopping insanity in such places or did something specific happen?
Lots of elbowing and trudging, was there?
I would guess that TC went with a strict budget but was so overwelmed she spent way too much simply to buy the first semi-suitable gifts she saw and get out of there post-haste, while the children wailed for a stream of twenty cent pieces to ride those scary motorised elephants.
Twenty cents! They all take gold these days. Not that I have – or will – ever put money in them. In fact, I view parents who do put money in those things as traitors to other parents. Grandparents I forgive, but if I ever see a mother putting money in I glare at them in a most uncompromising way.
The whole experience just sucked. Perhaps I will blog it in more detail. Although I think I have forced myself to forget most of it.
Now that is interesting; I am more inclined to be harder rather than easier on grandparents. I happened to catch the end of the Funniest Home Videos Grand Final last week, and saw the small boychild of the winning family sitting in his grandma’s lap in the studio audience as the announcement was made; she was forcibly gripping his wrists and clapping his hands together until his mother rescued him and brought him up to the stage, by which time he was screaming the place down. ‘Oh, he’s overwhelmed,’ said the mother apologetically. ‘He’s not overwhelmed,’ I snarled at the TV, as is my wont. ‘He’s howling because his effing grandmother has just broken both his effing arms.’
Now that is interesting; I am more inclined to be harder rather than easier on grandparents. I happened to catch the end of the Funniest Home Videos Grand Final last week, and saw the small boychild of the winning family sitting in his grandma’s lap in the studio audience as the announcement was made; she was forcibly gripping his wrists and clapping his hands together until his mother rescued him and brought him up to the stage, by which time he was screaming the place down. ‘Oh, he’s overwhelmed,’ said the mother apologetically. ‘He’s not overwhelmed,’ I snarled at the TV, as is my wont. ‘He’s howling because his effing grandmother has just broken both his effing arms.’
Well, what do you expect from families who win Funniest Home Videos? It’s all about kids having really nasty accidents. Kid’s arms were probably just recently out of plaster…
I feel for you, TC. I went to Knifepoint the other day – our affectionate name for the Marion Westfield equivalent, Highpoint… and had the following exchange:
Cast Iron (looking desperately for present for son’s teacher, whose tastes I do not know, and I think moisturiser-and-bath-stuff packages are a boring copout, but what the hey, I have spotted one such which looks relatively classy and useable): Hey, how much are those gift packs there?
Vacuous Salesgirl: Yeah but first, I have to tell you, this stuff is genuinely from the Dead Sea, no stuff from China, now, this is made from…
CI: sorry, I’m in a bit of a hurry. Can you just tell me how much these gift packs are?
VS: Yeah but first, let me tell you about it a bit more, cause…
CI:Sorry! Bye! (Exit)
No sale. Hello Dead Sea salt cosmetics people! Do you choose your salespeople for Dead Brain Cells or something?
There’s something about those vast malls which tire me the minute I’m in there. My legs swell from the hard floor, which has such a slick surface your leg muscles are constantly tense from bracing against slipping, and the echoey noise babble makes me feel spacey and strange. And the parking… don’t get me started.
What about Aunts who put money in those machines? I confess, I’m one of them. Did it just the other week for an ice-cream van contraption–of course then I had to pretend to be a customer and order a hotdog. But by now I’ve lost any shame I might have had about speaking in a squeaky voice with a pretend hand puppet in public.