It's a nice day for some frantic, head busting, panicked holiday preparations.
(But I'm as cool as an untouched habanero.)
All I have to do is take a "quick" break from the shop to get Philip a couple more things for his stocking. That's it. No big holiday feast, no relatives, no party, no big hoopla, no friends. Damn, sure is quiet around here. While this is all well and good, to not face the usual chaos and stress induced by large gatherings of people who share too much genetic material to keep their fingers off each other's buttons, I have to admit that I have come to treasure my Christmas Eve spent with my mother, my brother, and my sister. And I always look forward to my Christmas day spent drinking mimosas at my Dad's house with my sister and my brother. Obviously the kid loves hanging out with his aunt, uncle, and grandparents. He LOVES them all and LOVES all the attention. I should be feeling superior to all those headless chickens out there for having orchestrated such a quiet unstressful holiday.
It's easy. All you have to do is move twelve hours away from anyone you know.
A customer tried to bargain with me on the price of my bib apron. She thought forty dollars was too much. She wanted the blue cherries one because it was so cool she thought it might transform her from dull to instant vixen. (That's a lie, I just made that up because it's what I would like to believe.) She asked me if I would knock ten dollars off the price. I almost hucked a beer bottle at her head. I almost pointed out to her that I am not an Indonesian child slave and that I have to make my living in McMinnville, not Timbuk-f@$%ing-Tu. But that might have been offensive on several levels. So I just told her no, because I make them myself.
Of course, I won't be able to say that when I don't make them myself any more and I'll still have to charge forty dollars because I'll have to pay a non-Indonesian non-slave person to make them.
She asked if I was going to be open today. I wonder if she's going to come back and ask me if I'll mark my apron price down ten dollars figuring that after a good sleep I will have come to my senses and realized what a mistake I've made letting that sale slip away. I've got my empty beer bottle at my side. I've got some sharp toffee too. She has no idea that I spent all night dreaming about dead people who wouldn't stay dead.
I expected it to be busier today. It's not. In moments I'm going to go run my two errands and then I'm going to sit down to work on Max's heart pillow. We'll see if I can knock that baby out of the park in one day. Think I can do it?
Oh man. I have to come up with a new window design. Pretty much by today. So do I do a New Year type window for one week? Do I do an early garden themed window? Shit. Triple shit. Pardon the french-ola. I've had ideas floating around for weeks but now that the time has come to settle in on one I find that all of the ideas I had are as weak and as exciting as dirty dishwater. Color scheme first, story second, build it third.
Only one more day to submit your entry in the "WORST GIFT EVER" contest!
It's easy. All you have to do is move twelve hours away from anyone you know.
A customer tried to bargain with me on the price of my bib apron. She thought forty dollars was too much. She wanted the blue cherries one because it was so cool she thought it might transform her from dull to instant vixen. (That's a lie, I just made that up because it's what I would like to believe.) She asked me if I would knock ten dollars off the price. I almost hucked a beer bottle at her head. I almost pointed out to her that I am not an Indonesian child slave and that I have to make my living in McMinnville, not Timbuk-f@$%ing-Tu. But that might have been offensive on several levels. So I just told her no, because I make them myself.
Of course, I won't be able to say that when I don't make them myself any more and I'll still have to charge forty dollars because I'll have to pay a non-Indonesian non-slave person to make them.
She asked if I was going to be open today. I wonder if she's going to come back and ask me if I'll mark my apron price down ten dollars figuring that after a good sleep I will have come to my senses and realized what a mistake I've made letting that sale slip away. I've got my empty beer bottle at my side. I've got some sharp toffee too. She has no idea that I spent all night dreaming about dead people who wouldn't stay dead.
I expected it to be busier today. It's not. In moments I'm going to go run my two errands and then I'm going to sit down to work on Max's heart pillow. We'll see if I can knock that baby out of the park in one day. Think I can do it?
Oh man. I have to come up with a new window design. Pretty much by today. So do I do a New Year type window for one week? Do I do an early garden themed window? Shit. Triple shit. Pardon the french-ola. I've had ideas floating around for weeks but now that the time has come to settle in on one I find that all of the ideas I had are as weak and as exciting as dirty dishwater. Color scheme first, story second, build it third.
Only one more day to submit your entry in the "WORST GIFT EVER" contest!