I did.
Stij decided that our four-foot flat screen TV
just wasn’t quite big enough. He
absolutely had to have one of the brand new eight-foot TVs, I suppose because
he’s planning a trip to the moon in the near future, and wants to be able to
see re-runs of The Honeymooners from the Sea of Tranquility without dragging
the set along.
Okay. It’s
the only thing he’s asked for this year—well, no, that’s not quite true. He also asked that I not cook Christmas
dinner, but that kind of goes without saying.
One of the big box stores was having a Black
Friday special on these contraptions at an 80% discount. And, of course, there were only four
available at that price.
I resolved to be first in line, so Wednesday
morning, I packed up my tent, sleeping bag, lantern, sandwiches, and a couple
of books, and headed over to the store.
Evidently, I wasn’t the only forward-thinking person
in town.
As a matter of fact, it looked like the whole town
was already there.
There were tents everywhere. I had no hope of being the first one in the
door. I’d be lucky if I were the 200th
person in the door.
But I couldn’t let Stij down!
I set up my tent on the horizon line, and
brooded. There wasn’t much point in
doing this for the next two days if I couldn’t get what I came for.
So what to do?
My writer’s
brain kicked into overdrive.
What could get me to the front of the line?
I stared glumly at the store I was camped out in
front of, and it came to me! I dashed
inside, purchased what I needed, then packed up my tent, dashed to my car and
went home.
“That was quick,” Stij said. “I thought you were having a Black Friday
camping adventure.”
“Nope. I’m
going to drive over about an hour before they open the doors on Friday
morning.”
He sighed.
“Oh, ye of little faith,” I said. “You’ll see.
I’ve got a plan.”
“Does it involve cooking?”
“Nope.”
“Well, thank God for that, anyway.”
I arose Friday at 4:00AM, spent about two hours in
the bathroom, the quietly left the house.
At the store, I parked my car, and made my way forward.
People toward the front of the line were a little
stroppy about my attempt to get past them, and they turned to tell me so.
The words died on their lips.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “But I’m terribly ill.”
Horror suffused their features. “What’s wrong with you?”
“It’s a rare form of leprosy…contagious, I think,
if I sneeze…ah…ah…ah…ahchhhhh......”
I cleared out those campers faster than Clint
Eastwood singing opera.
The store I’d stopped into was a party shop, you
see. I'd bought some theatrical make-up
and liquid latex, and the rest is history.
The problem was that, before I could wipe it off,
store security called an ambulance, and I was hustled off to the Emergency Room
before I could make my purchase.
So, poor Stij isn’t getting his eight-foot
flat-screen this year; however, he will still be able to watch me on our old TV.
I got offered a part in Walking Dead—The Movie.
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