Turkey Day approaches quietly and then it’s here, the busiest travel day in the year, sucking us into the vortex of the steroidal shopping season known as Christmas. This year I learned that Target stores will open late on Thursday so that Black Friday maniacs can claim yet another day– Charcoal Thursday. I have seen the corporate plan to take over Ebony Wednesday in 2016 and Midnight Tuesday in 2020. I am risking my life and yours by merely mentioning this next installment of Commercial Warming, or, as the international conglomerates of retailers (ICR) like to call it, Shopping Change. The DaVinci Code subterfuge is nothing compared to what the ICR folks can whip up in a can. And we wait like well fed but helpless lambs. “BAAhhhaaahaha” as the wanton wolves of Wall Street circle the herd. No one talks about Bloody Saturday and Traumatic Head Injury Sunday after Thanksgiving. Those are not appropriate talking points for the global gluttons to disclose.
How much stuff do you need? Do you have enough yet? I do. However, I am under pressure from my loving family, who are lost in the hallucinogenic fog of ICR marketing, to come up with stuff I want. My wife asked me the other night, “Do you want a weekend getaway or a recliner?” Do I need either? No!!! I opted for the weekend getaway, by the way. I figured that the chair has a good shot at outliving me, but I can enjoy the experience of a weekend away with…well, come to think of IT, my wife never mentioned if she was coming along on the weekend. And where exactly is AWAY? I hope the big empty box in the garage has nothing to do with my Gift. I know it’s illegal to transport live humans via Federal Express or UPS without a permit. Still, there was a certain twinkle in her eyes as she offered me the recliner, the most dreaded piece of furniture in the house because of its proximity to the television set and remote control. This could be very, very dark, Bloggettes. She has threatened to burn the recliner with me in it before, and now… it’s a gift option? HMMMMmmmm. “Do you want to go to the new James Bond movie or a nursing home?” Very dark. And she started watching “Dancing with the Stars”. I’m getting a very unholiday sinking feeling now. She thinks Emmitt will win, which may mean that I go in a box to the Inner Harbor, duct taped to a Lazy Boy in reclined position, remote tuned forever to Sports Center, dropped into the drink on a moonless Christmas night. Now I’m scared I’ll have to watch her dance with Emmitt on Monday nights at 8:oo p.m. Will I get cable underwater?
I do need a real leather belt. I have four worn out synthetic leather, known as vinyl coated fabric, belts hanging in my closet. They don’t last through winter. I think I’d have more traction with a long piece of beef jerky threaded through my belt loops. The problem with that is dogs. My dog already goes crazy when folks visit or have food or just need to be violated in their nether regions. Add a strip of beef jerky to that mix and you have a domestic disaster waiting for a sponsor. [Think of a fast NASCAR vehicle in primer gray. Advertisers view it like a dog slavers over jerky. “Man, we could run a sticker over your hood and sell more chew.” Spuuut.] I’m going to have to rule out the jerky belt, though I think it has “survivalist” written all over it. Maybe suspenders made of fruit rollups would flex yet still bounce back enough to keep my modesty maintained. Clothing and accessories made of food stuffs need to be held on the back burner for further review. I’ll run this concept by the Coffee Summit Nation and get back to you soon, my bloggoids.
I know I am getting more Calvin Klein Eternity Aqua cologne from my youngest daughter. Do I need cologne? If I’m wearing the beef jerky belt with fruit roll up suspenders, I may need to mask their conflicting odors. Besides, it smells really good. So good that a young black woman at Walmart recently leaned my way in the check out line and uttered suggestively, “MMMM, you smell goooood.” I’ve never been told that before. I was told by an old drunk guy on a Trailways bus once that I stank. As I recall there was stink present all over him and he was definitely not Calvin Klein. Then again, what do you buy with cologne? Smells. And they evaporate after a while. You are left with an empty bottle with an atomizer nozzle. Something else to put before the consortium of the marginally employed. Should flavored air be valued at such levels?
My daughters are sneaky. They ask what I need or want months before Christmas and I forget totally that we ever had the conversation. I am going to test this theory out in 2013. If one of my daughters asks what I need or want, I ‘m going to say, ” A kangaroo”. I won’t forget that. Then, months later, if a kangaroo is in my stocking, well, I’ll have me answer, won’t I? However, if I am at the bottom of Baltimore Harbor duct taped to a Lazy Boy, I won’t have the satisfaction that comes from knowing one’s intuition was right.
Anyway, Merry Corporatemas. Would you pass the cranberry sauce, please?