We ended up celebrating my husband’s birthday yesterday. He was in Louisiana for work and was supposed to come home Monday evening, but two hours before his flight departure he called to tell me he was not, in fact, coming home because someone decided at the very last minute that they needed everyone to work the following morning. So, he didn’t return until late Tuesday night. And what did I do upon hearing I had another day before he would be home? I procrastinated some more about the cake.
I blame my craft box.
Around mid-morning I decided I was going to get one of those Happy Birthday signs to hang in the hallway. I really don’t know why, because it isn’t like my husband turned five. But for whatever reason I had to have a sign, so I headed to the dreaded Michaels, aka Craft Hell. I haven’t been there since last year around the holidays. I don’t know what it is about that place, but it’s annoying as hell. It’s always filled with screaming kids and soccer moms buying puffy paint. And then there are the diehard crafties – women who knit, or scrapbook, or make jewelry. I’m fascinated by them, and always wonder how they find the time (and patience, my grandma tried to teach me to cross stitch once, it didn’t go over well) to engage in those sorts of hobbies. Or if, like me, they buy crafty shit and then it sits in a box, only to be pulled out during birthdays and holidays.
Anyway, I did not find a birthday sign, but did find some other birthday stuff. For all the people in the store, the checkout lines were almost empty. Two were opened, both of which had customers, and there was one, lone dude in line ahead of me. This guy and I are standing there, minding our own business and patiently waiting in line, when one of the cashiers looks over at us and says, “Excuse me, but you have to stand BEHIND the orange line!!!”
Note the italics, caps, exclamation marks, and bold font. Yeah, that’s because she was a total bitch about it. Lone dude and I looked at each other, and then to the line she pointed at, which was about three feet behind me. Oh the horror. Because, you know, those three feet are surely the difference between life or death, right? So I said “Well, we MUST follow the rules.”
He responded with something equally sarcastic, and then followed that with, “Did you know more than 8,000 pieces of regulation are written into law every single day?!?”
And thus began a conversation about the evils of excessive regulation. It was awesome. Since he was ahead of me in line (and the orange line we now dutifully stood behind), he was turned to face me, allowing me a view of the cashiers. While he passionately spoke about big government, bitchy cashier call next in line, which he didn’t hear. Nor did he hear her the next three times, or see the stank eye from the other cashier, who by that point was frantically motioning for me to pay. It gave me great pleasure to watch her head nearly explode from frustration.
Dear militant Michaels cashiers,
It’s a craft store, not the end of the world. Chill the fuck out.
Anyhoo, when I returned home I pulled out my craft box and spent half the afternoon on a homemade birthday card. Actually, I made two, because the first one turned out to be exceptionally crappy. Also, I think the card reflects my trip to Michaels.
And finally, the cake. Yes, it was chocolate:
It wasn't really a cake, more like a gigantic truffle, with raspberry sauce.
and it was good