Another Saturday night, just trying to get out the front door.
O, my heart.
I used to be really good at getting all of my holiday to-dos done well before the stress and just general madness of the December month consumed not only me, but all of my loved ones.
I was a planning, shopping, and wrapping force to be reckoned with – my plans were executed with such precision I felt as though I could have established my own holiday-planner guild – apprentices and all.
Mostly I was imagining living in a Terry Pratchett novel, but you know, I’ll take when I can get.
However, for the last few years this once-strength of mine has waned; more and more I leave things- once easily accomplished errands – to the last minute.
I am unsure of what evil force is at play here (perhaps some deranged woman obsessed with her own reflection has sent a metaphorical huntsmen to rid me not of my beauty (HAH!) but of my festive organization skills) – yet somehow I don’t think this tale achieves quite the same level of drama as the original.
Either way, it is a dangerous line to walk, what with the majority of my family living over one thousand miles away and Canada Post being notoriously unreliable, especially anytime after the first of December.
It’s imperative that I get their gifts in the mail – STAT. And with less than three weeks left before the grand opening (of presents) I was starting to feel the anxiety of not having anything prepared.
To combat my ever rising sense of dread, last Friday I decided that it was high time to get my rear in gear, and trekked out after work, armed to the teeth with a razor sharp resolve.
The effort alone nearly destroyed me.
M was supposed to meet me downtown after my two hour head start. He was going to help me fill in any gaps in gifts for people, while at the same time we could enjoy the festive decorations of the downtown core.
(Side note: after spending Christmas in the UK, I cannot help but feel as though our streets are pretty darn bare and wish that our cities would take part in similar spectacular and magical light displays. But like I said, I take what I can get.)
Anyways, I gave him a call and promptly told him not to bother coming all the way downtown but that seeing as though he was already on transit, I would meet him halfway at Metrotown.
And that friends, is where I saw these:
Oh. My. Goodness. Gracious.
Forever Twenty-One is so awesome for so many (facetious) reasons, it actually boggles the mind.
M won’t even go into the store because he says that the combination of the loud, crap music, crowds of overzealous teenage girls and just general gaudiness brings on the mother of all panic attacks.
I don’t doubt it. You should have seen him in Primark.
I thought he was going to pass out.
But seriously, who styled these mannequins? Who got home after the most hard core yoga session of all time as thought, “holy crow, the body can move in the most peculiar of ways! Let’s make sure we highlight this interesting factoid in our next window display – it may even move the attention away from how absolutely insane looking ourclothing is.”
I was in a giggle fit for the rest of the night just thinking about it, but ever more so after M pointed out that two of the mannequins look like they are casually trying to give birth.
“What am I up to you ask? Oh, you know, not much…just heading into my twelfth straight hour of labour, but sheesh – don’t I look stylin?”
No lady. You look stone cold CRAZY.
I also don’t know exactly what to do with these boots:
I mean, how many wookies needed to die to create this abomination?
M has been playing a ton of Skyrim of late and he says that they look like something his character would don before going into battle against a dragon.
If that doesn’t signal cool, hip and fashion forward, than slap my face and call me T’analia.
(Don’t do that.)
Heck, I know I don’t go anywhere these days without my leather jerkin and long sword. But that’s only because I haven’t yet figured out how to properly style my battle ax.
Anyway, I couldn’t stop myself form posing like this for the next two days, just because the idea of them kept cracking me up.
From now on, anytime I am a waiting in a line I am going to stand in this position, because I’m pretty sure people will either think that 1) something is wrong with me, or that 2) I am very, very desperate. Either way, I am sure to guarantee that I am served first.
Or you know, I’ll end up committed.
Is it a price I’m willing to pay? I’m not sure – yet.
Knowing that I may never have to lay eyes on another Forever Twenty-One floral patterned unitard or pair of hotpink hammer pants, may just tip the scales.
We’ll just have to wait and see.
Oh, and all you folks living across Canada, waiting for your Christmas gifts? You now know what what’s heading your way.