Perpetually Peeved

Forces of Nature

Contrary to popular belief, I do not actually enjoy shopping.  Every once in a while, I can appreciate some retail therapy, but there has to be a “perfect storm” of conditions in order for this to happen.  

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  1.  I have to be alone.  Absolutely alone.  With nowhere to be at any specific time.  And, very poor cell phone reception.
  2. I cannot be shopping for anything in particular.  I am known for creating items that do not exist and then getting peeved when I can’t find them in the stores.
  3. I have to be shopping for myself.
  4. Budget?  What budget?
  5. It has to be on a “skinny” day.  You know, those magical days when the scale says you lost 2 pounds in your sleep.
  6. My hair has to look good.
  7. I have to get an amazing deal on at least one item.
  8. 7  out of 10 items I try on have to fit.
  9. I must have a frothy, chocolatey, caffeinated beverage.  And, even some biscotti to dip in it.
  10. I have to purchase at least one pair of shoes.

Rarely, very rarely, does this “perfect storm” occur.  The closest I get is DSW shoe warehouse on my lunch hour and that’s only because I’m a DSW rewards member (hello coupons!), my feet don’t Benedict Arnold me like my waistline does, and there’s a fudge shoppe right next door.

 This weekend, I needed to get fall clothes for Smalls.  Not that it is getting any cooler down here in the South (97 degrees last night at 6pm), but there were some good sales going on and I had some free time.  My sister had a 30% off coupon at Kohl’s and convinced me to meet up with her to go shopping for the kids.  Hmm…  Me, my two kids, her, her daughter…  maybe I should just skip it… but, it’s 30% off… and, I could always spend the money I saved on some shoes…  okay, what the heck! 

Now, up until this point, I have always refered to my sister as AJenda on this blog.  However, for this post, I feel the need to reveal her true identity.  The real nickname behind the nickname.  In my family, I am referred to as “Emma Dilemma,” “Dilemma,” or “that bitch.”  My sister has always been referred to as “Hurricane Jen.”  She comes on strong, with little or no warning.  When you think it’s over, she’s really only half-way done.  When she actually is done, you’re standing around looking at the disaster area.  She’s also a lot of fun when you’re drinking and the damage is happening to someone else.  Stores do not stand a chance against the Hurricane.  When she is shopping, she is trying on everything in the store.  I have been in dressing rooms with her where they literally are shutting the lights off and locking us in and she’s breaking out the keychain flashlight and trying to see how the last two pairs of jeans look.  

Why can't all hurricanes be like this? PS - I'm so tracking down the stemless glass. Love it.

Me, I’m more of a tsunami shopper.  I’m in and I’m out.  Quick, like that.  I take what I want and I drag it back out with me.  No lolly-gagging, no agonizing over decisions.  I want it, I buy it.  I don’t want it, I don’t put it in the cart.  You can see how it’s probably not a good idea for my sister and I to go shopping together.  I’m usually hanging up the clothes after she has tried them on and whining, “can we go now?” 

I figured this time though, we were shopping for the kids, it couldn’t be that bad.  And, it wouldn’t have been.  


Hurricane: [via text message to Peeved]:  Headed to Kohl’s right now.  Where are you?  Brace yourself, hurricane Granny is hot on our trail. 

Peeved: [blissfully unaware of text message]  Smalls, do you like this shirt? 

Smalls:  No, too stripey. 

Peeved:  How about this shirt? 

Smalls:  No, too spotty. 

Peeved:  Well, you need to pick some shirts. 

Smalls:  Well, I don’t like any of these. 

Peeved:  How about this one? 

Smalls:  Nope. 

Peeved:  This one? 

Smalls:  Nope.  Look, mommy!  Hamster pajamas! 

Peeved:  You don’t need pajamas. 

Smalls:  Hamster pajamas!! 

Peeved:  I’ll only get you the hamster pajamas if you start picking some shirts you like. 

Smalls:  Okay. 

Hurricane: [via text message to Peeved]:  We’re here… can’t find you… did you seek shelter from the storm? 

Peeved:  [putting hamster pajamas in cart, still blissfully unaware of text messages] Okay, how about this shirt? 

Smalls:  Yep.  [You guessed it, Smalls is a Lightening Storm shopper.] 

Except, noisier.

Peeved:  This one? 

Smalls:  Too flowery. 

Peeved:  Oh, how cute!  Look at his one. 

Smalls:  Nope. 

Peeved:  Smalls, we made a deal.  No hamster pajamas if you don’t pick some shirts. 

Smalls:  I did pick a shirt.  That one. 

Peeved:  Well, you need more than one shirt. 

Smalls:  So, get the same shirt in different colors, then.  Aunt Hurricane!! 

Peeved:  Oh, thank goodness.  Can you please suggest shirts to her?  I can’t get her to say yes to anything I pick. 

Hurricane:  Sure, hey – did you get my… 

Smalls:  Granny!!! 

Peeved:  Wha? 

Hurricane: … texts?  I tried to warn you. 


What’s the mother of all storms, people?  You guessed it.  Tornado Granny.  Tornado Granny is like a hurricane in that she comes on quick without any warning, except the destruction isn’t left spread all over the place, it’s been completely lifted away and relocated.  Granny hits the clearance racks like tornados target trailer parks.  Everything starts in the cart, but inevitably is put back before she gets to the checkout lane.  It’s like a weird form of tactile window shopping.  Also like a tornado, Granny disappears just as fast as she appears. 


[literally 3 hours into the shopping trip] 

Peeved:  You got everything? 

Hurricane:  Yep, I’m good to go. 

Peeved:  Sweet, let’s get out of here. 

Hurricane:  Yeah, the game starts soon and I’m starving. 

Peeved:  I feel like I swallowed a ShamWow! and my feet are about to fall off. 

Hurricane:  I hear ya.  Where’s mom? 

Peeved:  I don’t know.  I thought you knew? 

Hurricane:  Oh shit, we lost her.  Call her. 

Biggie:  She probably bailed again. 

Mini-Hurricane:  Yeah, she’s been known to do that! 

Peeved:  [calling Tornado on her cell phone] Ma, where are you? 

Tornado:  You know that completely hidden fitting room that you never would have looked for me in?  I’m hiding out in there.  Don’t tell your sister, she’ll make me put back all my clearance clothes

Peeved:  Found her.  Come on, guys. 


As predicted, Hurricane tried to talk Tornado out of her white-trash finery, carrying in clothes by the armful.  Guess who was left putting them all back on the hangers and saying, “Can we go now?!”  The children were taking turns pretending they were sad puppies up for adoption, hiding inside the rack of track pants, and having their mom paged over the PA system. 

Two very long hours later, we did finally get out of there.  Not before Biggie had an avalanche inspired melt-down because I wouldn’t by her 3-inch hot pink patent leather and zebra striped heels, though.  Gosh, I’m the worst mom ever.  Didn’t you know? 

I finally crawled into the storm shelter of my couch, called the Red Cross for a beer IV and tried to avoid any further disasters.  The only Perfect Storm I would be getting would be ordered through Netflix and starring George Clooney.  Mmm…. George Clooney.  That’d make everything better. 

Mission: Accomplished




TO:           Special Torture Agent II, Code Name: Sister 

FROM:     Bureau of Familial Torture 

RE:            Mission #753, Project Ego Destruction, Target: Perpetually Peeved 


Special Agent Sister, your new mission is to completely crush the ego of Target.  Advanced weaponry will be provided, including but not limited to: Suburban Mall, Florescent Lighting, Rude Salespeople, and Honda Pilot.  Please be advised that Target is armed and dangerous.  Be prepared for: Biting Sarcasm, Rolling Eyeballs of Exasperation and the usually lethal Laser Beam Look of Death.  As Target’s sister, you are the only one with the qualifications to complete this mission. You are her sister, she must love you even if she would like to pop the auto locks and physically eject you from the Honda Pilot.  

May the (familial torture) force be with you.  This message will self-destruct in 5…4…3…2… 


Photo from:

In preparation of our vacation together (yeah, I’m SURE that won’t end up in a post), my sister and I have been going on some shopping sprees. 

Overheard in the dressing room at store #1: 

PERPETUALLY PEEVED (PP): I need some shorts.  I have none that fit me. 

SECRET AGENT SISTER (SAS):  You need to lay out.  I can’t wear shorts, look, I’m getting varicose veins. 

PP:  Yeah, well I turned around in the mirror the other day and look… cellulite. 

SAS: That’s not cellulite.  Tell me that’s not cellulite.  If that’s cellulite, then I’m covered in it. 

PP:  Oh, yeah, it’s cellulite.  When the *&@! did that happen? 

Overheard in the dressing room at store #2: 

SAS: You know what?  That’s not cellulite. 

PP: What do you mean? 

SAS: On your legs.  You and I do not have cellulite.  I googled it. 

PP: You googled it? 

SAS:  Yes.  It’s not cellulite.  Cellulite is when it looks all cottage-cheesy. 

PP: It’s cellulite…  I can’t believe you googled it and looked at pictures. 

Overheard in the car after leaving store #3: 

PP:  I can’t believe I just spent $50 on bras.  I needed them both, right? 

SAS:  Yes, and they are usually $50 each – so you got a good deal.  You are just going to have to accept the fact that you need to spend that much on bras. 

PP: It’s a lot though – did they really look that good? 

SAS: Yes!  You need them.  Just look at it this way, it’s your lot in life.  It’s the dues you have to pay for being blessed with big boobs.  Think about the membership dues of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee – they spend a fortune trying to make theirs look like yours.  You have to spend a fortune to fix yours so they don’t make you look heavy. 

PP: Really?  Membership dues to the Itty Bitty Titty Committee? 

SAS: Yes.  Shut Up.  What I’m saying is, it’s your lot in life. 

PP: Great.  So I just have to have boobs that are each the size of my head that I need to spend $200 a year on so they don’t droop down and make me look like I’m about to give birth to twins.  Great fecking lot.  Stop at Target on the way home so I can pick up some Thank You cards for the life lot distributors. 

SAS: Well, you could have to dye your hair. Do you know how much I spend on hair dye? 

PP:  Yes, I do.  Because inherited the same premature grays from mommy. I have to dye my hair every month too, remember? 

SAS:  Oh. Yeah. Bad example. 

[contemplative silence] 

SAS: You know what? 

PP: No, what? 

SAS: I was serious before.  That’s not cellulite on our legs. 

PP: Yes, it is.  You are just in denial. 

SAS: No, really.  It’s not.  It’s just a little chubba. 

PP: So, what you’re telling me is that I don’t have cellulite, but I’m fat. 

SAS: No!  What I’m saying is that you don’t have cellulite, it’s just a little chubba. 

[Rolling Eyeballs of Exasperation] 

SAS:  Well, cellulite you can’t get rid of.  You could work out all day long and be skinny and still have cellulite.  A little chubba you could get rid of.  See…  I’m trying to make you feel better here. 

PP: So, now I have freak-like boobs, mommy’s genes for early grays and I’m fat. Thanks. 

SAS: Sorry. 

PP: Just. Stop. 

[mutual ignoring each other and looking out the window] 

PP: That’s a pretty house, wonder what it is. 

SAS: [reading sign] It’s the home of Mary and William Simmons.  Whoever they are. 

PP: No, it’s not.  It’s the home of Major William Simmons.  You need to stop living your life in denial and get some glasses. 

SAS:  Oh. ha ha.  Well, it could be worse, you could have ginormous boobs that make you look pregnant, mommy’s gray hairs, chubba thighs AND need glasses! 

PP:  [Laser Beam Look of Death (through my GLASSES!) 

That's not me, I looked much more pissed. But, those kind of look like my glasses.

SAS: Doh.

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