Thursday, April 21, 2011

Mimes Need Not Apply

     I almost peed myself yesterday. Almost twenty-seven-year-old women should never be in danger of wetting themselves, but it doesn’t mean, when caught off guard by something fantastic, they can’t get the occasional hitch in their bladders. The source of my bowel excitement? Be still my dorkified mothers everywhere, for I’m about to dangle the proverbial carrot in front of your debit cards.…the name brings tears to my eyes. I’m so misty I can’t see my computer *pulls out paisley, invisible hankie*…ok, that’s better. If you, my Readers, frequent it as much I do, then you know the pure euphoria that courses through the pointer finger when one clicks “buy”. So obviously, when the time came to search for the dancing monkey floor show for the twins’ birthday, I had my Go To. Ok, joking about the monkeys. I’m actually a little terrified of monkeys (money hands, monkey feet, monkey ability to hold a grudge).
     It’s taken every ounce of reservation I have, not to go overboard for the most important birthday my babies will ever have. I know, I know, every birthday’s important, but this is THE birthday, the one where I get be a mom and say, “Look over here world! I’m not artsy. I’m not crafty. But let it go down in history that I threw my kids a kicka** first birthday!” …so sad.
     This year’s budget didn’t allow for ponies, mimes or fire-breathers. Like most of my moth-ren, I’m having to pick a theme that falls into my "commoner" tax bracket and stick to it.Tori Spelling may be able to pull Cirque Du Soleil out of her hiney, but this lady's had to settle on a mouse..mice..meeces. Er... it's come down to Mickey and Minnie and mouse-saturated goods.
     One-year-old children don't have vested interests, but as they've been watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse since the day I could prop them up, I took that and ran with it..and ran..and ran. Back to Amazon being like crack, by the way. Because it is.
     Once I started searching for anything mouse-related, my eyes gazed over. After about the seventh click on "If you like this, then you might like..." a feeling began to creep over me, comparable to the time I got this close to touching Taylor Hanson's hand after sacrificing three canned goods to stand out in the cold and crush my tiny body against a chain-link fence...but I digress.
     Like a woman possessed, I loaded my cart: table cloth, cupcake wrappers, balloons. What's that you say? You have mouse-themed wrist watches with matching headband? I dunno, Amazon. I'm pushing the bank account...but my party won't be complete without it? People will judge me? Damn. Ok, "Add to Cart".
     The box headed to my house is (based on a rough estimate) about the size of a baby elephant. When it arrives, I'll be checking for the psychiatric evaluation attached to back of the packing slip.

     Dear Customer,

Thank you for your recent business. Based on your purchases, we feel that you might also like an institution.

Until Next Time, Readers!