Don't Patronize Me, Cookie

My husband and I had a mutually desired outing to Lowe's yesterday. Typically, he's dragging me there. Or vice versa.

"Let's go to Lowe's," he'll suggest to me. This translates into, "Let's go roam every single aisle aimlessly with nothing in mind, and no extra money to spend."

When I suggest, "Let's go to Lowe's," it translates into a specific mission - getting paint, something to plant in the flowerbeds, bug killer, etc.

I think I lost the female shopping gene during childbirth that used to give me the undying desire to go walk around a place of business with only a few dollars in my pocket as a source of entertainment.

I wanted to go look at paint and flooring for the dining room. He wanted to go get a piece of plywood for the well-housing in the garage. I'd informed him when I started working that I most certainly would not be in the mood to thaw pipes in the morning before heading off to work, and that we needed to work on further weather-proofing around here. He concurred when I got a bit homicidal after crawling under the house several times last winter because of a frozen elbow going to the tub.

After leaving Lowe's, he asked me, "Anything else?"

He seemed to be in a good mood, so I said, "Stop by Fashion Bug. You can sit in the truck when I go in. I need a sweater."

He obliged. I guess since I was in there long enough to pick up a couple jackets, three sweaters, and two pairs of shoes, he worked up an appetite sitting there waiting on me. We went into the Chinese buffet place next door.

Man, I love that place. I don't eat red meat, and it's like heaven on earth for me with all the seafood and chicken. And crab rangoon? I could make a meal of that alone.

They brought the bill and the fortune cookies while my husband had excused himself to the little boys' room. I waited for him to return before I took a cookie, cracked it open, and read the fortune.

It read, "You are talented in many ways."

I chuckled. "What's so funny?" he asked.

I read it out loud to him, and he commented that yes, not many people can trip over their own feet, and that just might be considered talent.

"Isn't that a bit like being told 'you're special'?" I asked him. "I think my fortune cookie just patronized me. This cookie essentially says I'm special."

It reminded me of a text message a dear friend sent me a while back:

I don't care if you lick the windows, take the short bus, or occasionally pee on yourself. You hang in there, sunshine. You're friggin' special!

It's pretty bad when you're picked on by an inaminate object.