Yesterday we tried the 'connectedness' thing. I wouldn't call it unsuccessful. On the other hand . . .
For Christmas, my sweet Mister actually gave me something I had asked for! He bought me a new sewing machine. But he wouldn't let me take it out of the box and use it : ) He told me I should test drive several machines to make sure I got the one I really wanted. Thoughtful and sweet of him, no?
So, yesterday afternoon, rather than me going to do errands alone (my usual MO) I made the conscious decision that we should go together. See? Isn't that all connected and good of me?
We went to Sears. As we stood talking next to the bank of floor models, the saleswoman (we're pretty sure it's a woman) who helped Mister before Christmas recognized him and offered her assistance.
Mister had some research to do in another part of the store (research = deciding which HD TV is a necessity for us) so he went his way while I compared features on sewing machines. With the help of the sales(wo?)man.
And by help? I mean holy effing hovering, Batman!
I couldn't shake this lady. Every time I stepped closer to read the information on one of the machines, she butted right in to tell me all about functions and stitches and modes and every other feature I wasn't ready to consider yet.
Oh, and she touched me--like 3 times!!! I am seriously committed to personal space. I do not like being touched by strangers. Particularly strangers of dubious gender . . .
I peered closely at one model, SalesPerson insisted on moving it to a lower shelf, climbing under the shelf to plug it in, testing it herself and then allowing me to sit down and play around with it. Play around with it, that is, after informing me that she never begins a machine without first putting the needle down into the fabric. Um, duh? Isn't that the first lesson everyone learns when they begin sewing?
I hadn't so much as placed my hands on the fabric when she stepped back in from her polite distance of 2 freaking inches away to show me (at length, and again) how to adjust the stitch options and stitch length and width.
Maybe it's me. Maybe I have that look about me that says, "Warning: This person cannot understand the most basic instructions due to her extra chromosome."
"I don't know how much sewing you have done . . . " she said as she POKED MY SHOULDER! WTF?
So while I was sitting there and she was going over and over the same instructions that I didn't care about, I didn't hear a word she said. I was thinking, "How can I get out of this? How can I politely run the f*** away? What story can I come up with to get myself out of here?"
Finally, I came up with a plan. Translation: I came up with a lie. "I see that there's a price difference between this model and the one my husband bought me. I need to go talk about our budget with him."
She bought my story.
As I was leaving her department, I was dialing hubby's cell. "She wouldn't leave me alone!"
"I know," he replied sympathetically. "I knew that would probably bother you."
"And she touched me! Three times!!!!"
"Oh. That's not good!"
"Where are you? I need you to protect me!"
"I'm still in the TV department."
"No! I'd have to walk back past the sew and vac department to get to you! Never mind. I'll walk around the outside of the store and meet you. Don't go anywhere. Oh shit! There she is again! Whew--she didn't see me!"
Several minutes went by as I circumnavigated the department store . . .
Still on the phone with hubby . . .
"Crap! There she is again! She's stalking me!!!!!!!!"
"I know!" hubby replied, again with the sympathy, "she just found me and told me you were coming to talk to me."
I didn't end up getting a different machine. The one my thoughtful husband picked out for me is JUST FINE!
Know what else? It occurred to me that Mister had willingly tried out every machine with that overbearing (wo)man standing over his shoulder and interrupting the whole time. The depth of his love for me is humbling. I'm feeling pretty connected : )