Normally, the Thanksgiving holidays are spent in the rural prairie lands of northern Idaho, hours away from shopping malls and Super Wal-Mart’s. However, this year bad weather kept us home and I decided to venture out into the dark abyss known as Black Friday. I thought I had roped an unwilling accomplice into going with me, only for him to ask his boss if there was any work for him to do on Friday. . . chicken. Therefore, my dad went with me instead. He wanted to buy a Tom-Tom at Radio Shack anyway.
This year, we told the two older boys not to expect much under the Christmas tree. We purchased the oldest a new bed a few weeks ago, (at 6’8,” he needed an extra long mattress) while our middle son is going on a school trip to Washington, D.C. on Spring Break. Still all three of them handed me pages of Christmas wish lists that would rival a Harry Potter book. Well, at least the oldest isn’t asking for a car. . . yet.
After giving myself a hernia from lifting the After-Thanksgiving edition newspaper, I thumbed through all the circulars. Observing me looking at the ads, my boys took the discarded pages, and began to circle more items for the wish list. Who are they kidding?
I’m not going to pretend understanding people who camp out in front of big box stores several days before Thanksgiving. And I don’t care how deep the discount is, no getting up at o-dark-thirty for me. Although, I did wake earlier then what I normally would. Hey, I wanted to catch some of those sales.
Five hours later, trips to the big box stores and the shopping mall under my belt, as well as, my wallet loads lighter, I had survived; however I can say with all confidence, I won’t try that again.