I'm terrible about a big day of shopping. I'm fine if I'm on my own, but with others, I get testy. And I fully admit this is my own fault. Matt still plans family shopping days anyway, and I suppose that when it's time to buy winter clothes and hockey supplies, it's nice to have both parents around.
The main problem seems to be food. We usually hit the town at about 11:30, and by that time I'm ready for lunch. And when I don't eat, I get crabby. Of course, everyone does, but I'm pretty immature about it.
After a stop at the used kid clothes store (jeans, tops) and Minnesota Surplus (boots for John and a Russian sailor t-shirt for me), Matt knew it was time for a break.
"We could go to T-Bonz," he said. "Or the All-American. I took the kids to T-Bonz once, and it was fine."
I didn't feel like a greasy bar cheeseburger and MGD on tap, which was unusual. "I don't know what I feel like. I always feel like Mexican, but there's no Mexican here."
"What do you feel like?"
"T-Bonz is fine. Let's just go there."
After a little more back-and-forth, we go inside.
T-Bonz is, indeed, fine. They have a pretty good extended menu and Bell's on tap. After a pint on an empty stomach and Oklahoma romping all over Colorado on the TV, I look at Matt and say, "I'm happy here."
Maia announces to the bar that she has to go potty, so I take her back. The bathroom is odd. It's about three feet wide and 20 feet long. You walk past the two sinks to get to the toilets, both of which are in one stall. Next to each other. Maia and I are speechless. Maia recovers first and thinks its great. "We can go at the same time, Mama," she says, clearly taken by the idea. I demur.
T-Bonz gets better and better. I discover that the only thing I wanted to eat was potato skins, and there they are on the menu. Matt and I get all flirty and the weird bathroom reminds me of my freshman-year bathroom and I tell John stories about how four of us had to shower at the same time. John thinks this is hilarious. Maia sits up and asks in her clear, high voice that probably carries over to Superior:
"Guys? Are we Jewish?"
After T-Bonz and another pint of Bell's, I can shop anywhere. We hit Northwestern Outlet for snowpants for John and choppers for Maia. We come back across the bridge again and go to Stewart's.
"You have two kids in hockey?" the helpful young man said. "My sympathies."
Skates. Pads. Helmet. Stick. For Maia, a (hee) pelvis protector. Spend, spend. We get coffee and ignore Miss Pista, as recounted in the comments in the previous post. We shop at the fancy new grocery store.
We get home. The rest of the day is devoted to cereal for supper, drowsing in front of college football games and a long bath for Maia. Perfect.