Why I don’t have any homemade Christmas cookies.
This was the year that I was determined to make some of my mom’s Christmas Sugar cookies.
Let’s see, flour, sugar, butter, vanilla, eggs, and baking soda. Whoa! I am out of everything. I yelled at Alexa to add these items to my shopping list, plus cat food and kitty litter. I printed off my grocery list and grabbed my purse.
“Where are you going?” my wonderful husband, Kenneth, asked.
“Back to the store.”
“Again?” Not so much a question as a sigh. “Well,” he said, “while you’re out, can you drop off this book at the Library for me? Its due back today.” He smiled sweetly.
“OK.’
“Also since you are going to the store we need some coffee and creamer.”
“OK”
“And you go right by the post office, so can you just put this bill in the outside slot? You don’t have to go inside, unless you want to check the Post Office box while you’re there.”
“OK”
“And would you mind going thru Dairy Queen and getting me one of those blizzards on your way back? I like the Butterfinger ones.”
I put my fingers in my ears. “Anything else,” I yelled. Kenneth just laughed at me and took my grocery list and wrote coffee, creamer, and cookies.
“What? Wait, I’m not buying already done cookies, I’m going to make my mom’s sugar cookies.” I announced.
Kenneth frowned, then tried to hide it with a smile and a kiss on my head.
“Too late!” I yelled,” I saw that frown!. What was that? Don’t you think I can make cookies?”
“Will it be better than the fudge?” he asked sadly.
“What’s wrong with the fudge?” I groaned.
“Well, sweetheart, when you cut a piece it runs thru your fingers.”
“So, it’s a little soft, so what? Put it in the freezer, pretend it’s a fudgesickle.” I snapped.
I rushed out and jumped in my car and decided to go by the library first, to drop off Kenneth’s book. I ran in and handed the girl the book.
She looked down. As I turned to go she said. “Ma’am, this book was due yesterday. The overdue fine will be ten cents.”
“Hold it, I left my purse in the car. I will be right back.” I ran to my car and grabbed my purse. As I turned, I saw the Librarian glaring at me. She was holding a cell phone.
Good grief, I wondered, was she calling the police on me for a ten cent fine?
Purse in hand, I ran back in the door. I dug out a dime and handed it to her. She glared at me, so I pulled out a dollar and tossed it to her. Just then a police car pulled up in front of the Library.
“Seriously!” I said, looking back at the girl. “Ten freaking cents? What’s wrong with you?
The cop came in and handed the girl a book. “Sorry it’s late,” he said smiling at her.
“That’s ok,” she responded,” It’s only a day.”
“Duh?” I wanted to say more, but I didn’t want to get arrested.
They both looked at me, so I left.
Next stop was the Post Office. I ran in the door, then ran out again when I realized I didn’t have the keys to the Post Office Box. Oh well, I would just have to check the box some other time.
Back in the car, I circled the drive to go by the mail drop box. There was an old white Cadillac with two white haired ladies sitting in the lane beside the drop box. I waited for what I felt was an appropriate amount of time. Two minutes. I mean, how long does it take to drop a letter in a box, for goodness sake? The ladies were talking and waving their hands around, It almost looked like they were singing.
I tried to be patient, but then I honked, politely of course. I finally had enough, I got out of the car and walked up to the driver’s side window.
The window was down and the lady driving the car said, “I’ll have two cheeseburgers, please.”
“Lady.” I said, pointing, “McDonalds is over there. This is the Post Office.”
“Oh I’m so sorry!” she said. She rolled up her window and stomped on the gas. She ran over two curbs and almost hit a jogger before winding up going the wrong way in the McDonalds drive thru.
I got a cold chill. “That’s me in a couple of years.” I said, shaking my head and climbing back in my car. I pulled up and reached to shove the letter in the drop box. Of course, I missed the slot and had to back up and open the door to retrieve the letter. Then I just walked up and put it in the drop box.
Some kid had pulled up behind me and started honking. “Hey lady,” he yelled, “This is drive thru.”
“No it isn’t! That’s a drive thru.” I yelled back, pointing at McDonalds. He rolled his eyes.
I climbed back in the car and took off. Next stop, the Wal-Mart grocery store. Their parking lot is always full. People drive around for hours just waiting on a spot near the door. I was lucky and bluffed out some guy in a gigantic pick-up truck. As I walked into the store, I could see him sitting nearby, waiting.
I ran in and grabbed my items and headed toward the checkout. At Walmart, you can go through the line where a human checks you out or you can use the self-checkout lines. There must have been six people in the regular line so I kept glancing at the empty self-checkout line.
Well, I thought, how hard can it be? I only have a few items.
Twenty minutes later, I stumbled out the door with my groceries clutched in my hands. I don’t consider myself to be technically challenged, but after today someone would have to be chasing me with a cattle prod to get me into a self-checkout line. Of course, I am not sure Walmart will ever allow me in that line again. I bet they send my picture around to all the stores. You know, “Warning, if you see this lady just run.”
I got back out to my car, and the big guy in his big truck was still sitting there. Thank goodness I have a small car because I just barely had enough room to back out without hitting his truck, and he wasn’t moving.
I was relieved to pull into the Dairy Queen drive-thru and order my blizzards. I sat in line for what seemed like an eternity. Actually it was about five minutes. When I pulled up to the window, the guy tried to give me a bag of burgers.
“Not my order.” I growled, my frustration coming to the fore.
“Are you sure?”
“I ordered blizzards.” I said, my chin jutting out.
“Nah, you ordered hamburgers.”
“Blizzards.” I gritted my teeth.
“Burgers.”
“Don’t make me get out of this car’.” I growled at him, channeling my best bad ass expression.
The manager stepped up behind the kid. “Is there a problem?”
“I ordered blizzards, and this kid keeps telling me I ordered burgers.” I tried not to sound whiney.
“Burgers?”
“No blizzards!” I shouted.
“You’re sure you want blizzards and not burgers.” He repeated.
“I’m not moving until I get my blizzards,” I was gritting my teeth so hard they hurt.
The manager turned to the kid and told him, “Get her blizzards”.
The kid held the blizzards out the window and turned the cup upside down to show how thick the blizzard was and the entire contents went splat down the side of my car and ended up on the ground.
“Oops,” he said.
“Score,” I yelled, grinning. By the time I left, the manager had given me a free bag of burgers and two free blizzards.
That seemed to be the turning point for me, as the rest of the day went pretty well. I got my cookies baked and handed one to my husband.
Kenneth bit down on one of my beautiful cookies and immediately frowned. “I think I broke a tooth,” he said.
I grabbed the plate of cookie, covered them with plastic wrap and headed for the door.
“Where are you going now?” he asked me.
“I’m taking these to the Library.”
Mary Clayton Writing 