A Road Trip for Christmas

So, needless to say, Rachel was none too happy when she woke up. I'm sure she had a touch of the evil drummer man in her head, but add to that the fact that the first thing she saw when her eyes opened was a sign for the San Antonio city limits, and she was fit to be tied.


“What in the hell happened Jeaux? What are we doing? Are we seriously in fucking San Antonio?” she squealed, hurtin' her own head enough that her hands flew to her ears, probably in an attempt to hold the remnants of her brain in place.


“You know I'm not supposed to drive,” I answered simply.


“Not supposed to drive huh? I thought you got crazy road rage or something! Jeaux we're more than a hundred miles from home! It's Christmas tomorrow! What in the hell are you thinking?”


This I had an answer for. Jerkin' the car to the side of the road, I threw it into park and turned to look her in the face.


“I was thinkin' that I'm tired of sittin' around that damn town wishin' everyday I was with Kevin and tryin' my hardest to have a regular group of friends, because Lord knows I can't have a regular job, or a regular boyfriend, or a regular life of any kind. But I can't even have a regular group of friends that does regular things. No I still end up ridin' with strangers, acceptin' kisses I don't want, and behind the wheel of a car I shouldn't have to worry about bein' able to drive!


I was thinkin' I don't wish to sit through another family meal while my mother does her damnedest to make sure I don't offend anybody, and never fails at every opportunity to further explain or defend my lack of said career, boyfriend, life...


I was thinkin' I wanted to get the hell out of town. Get away from Kevin. Go somewhere I don't have to worry about my every step and my every word. Fly right through town on a whim, without lookin' back, without remorse, without guilt, without that forever impendin' sense of doom I have around people I have to see day in and out.


I was thinkin'...road trip.”


Rachel's facial expressions changed from surprise, to pity, to empathy, and right back around to anger as I concluded my rant.


“A road trip?” she sneered. “Are you fucking kidding me Jeaux? It's Christmas tomorrow! What am I supposed to tell my family? What are you going to tell yours? Your mom is going to kill us! My mom is going to kill us!”


“Oh come on! You know as well as I do, you don't really care if you miss tomorrow. Don't you ever get tired of the constant string of questions tainted in underlyin' “you're not good enough” connotations? Those, “why can't you be more like cousin so-and-so” comments or looks? You're tellin' me you're going to miss all that?”


I'm sure she didn't appreciate my mockin' tone, because she didn't soften right on up or anything. But I knew my words rang true. I'd heard her complain enough about her family, and the whispers of judgment she never failed to hear behind her back. She didn't even have a "nifty" disorder to get to use as her scapegoat.


“So where are we going then Jeaux?” she asked, leanin' back in her seat with a sigh.


“Guess we'll have to wait and see.” I didn't know anymore than she did.


Within minutes our bellies both sounded as though they were the introductory drum-roll to the sunrise. With, of course, an added melody of gongs and trumpets for added effect.


“Are you at least gonna feed me on this little excursion of yours? Have you even considered that we haven't got not one change of clothes Jeaux? How long are we going to be gone?”


“Only one question at a time please. And to answer the first, that is an affirmative senorita. And I'm thinkin' Mexican.”


Makin' a sudden mad dash across two lanes of traffic, I careened onto the access road, and pulled into the parkin' lot of a Jalisco's – who's business did not seem to be sufferin' from the early mornin' hour.


Rachel's hands were firmly clenched into the sides of her seat, and her foot had a mean hold on the floor board.


“Pushin' your brake over there?” I asked laughin'.


“Oh my God Jeaux. Okay-I'll go with you on this little soul-searchin' road-trip of yours, but I'm driving from now on!”


I just laughed and nodded my head. That would of course be for the best.


The restaurant was already alive inside with the smell of coffee, the hum of light conversation, and the sound of the traditional rhythms of Latin music on the speakers over-head.


Everything was painted in bright colors, and there were even pinatas hangin' from the ceiling. Quite festive I assure you.


Once we were seated, our drinks before us and our order had been placed, I still didn't have a straw. I gotta have me a straw! I'd already gulped my first cup of coffee and knew it wasn't helpin' the dehydration that was sure to set-in given the amount of alcohol I'd recently consumed.


I couldn't help but notice the glass of water that had obviously gone untouched at the table across from us. Beads of undisturbed condensation covered the glass from top to bottom. And it, miraculously, had a straw stickin' up from its brim.


I pushed away from the table, and Rachel started to say “stop” – thinkin' I was goin' to complain to the waiter, for she is a firm believer in not fuckin' with the people that fix her food. But to her benefit, but disbelief, I only leaned across to the opposin' table and stole the straw with a quick but certainly polite “you're not usin' this are you?”


Yeah – it was gonna be that kind of day. Accustomed to the looks by now, I just stuck the straw in my cup and sucked my water totally dry.


“Ah, that's so fresh,” I gasped wantin' more.


“Please tell me the next time you need something Jeaux. Wouldn't want you getting herpes of the mouth because you had the steal the neighbor's salsa.”


“She didn't touch it!”


“Oh my God, whatever! That's so gross.”


I couldn't help but take the opportunity to further disgust her by lickin' the sides of the straw, in a most definitely lewd manner, and then enthusiastically suckin' the last couple of drops as though the goodness of it all and made me cross-eyed for a moment.


“You're disgusting, you know that right?”


Still, she couldn't help but laugh along with me.


“So what are we going to do today? For real? Keep driving? Do the tourist thing?”


“I've never been here before. So I say we do the tourist thing. See the Alamo maybe?” I suggested with a grin. “I bet there's bound to be some Christmas stuff goin' on downtown. This is a big city. I'm sure we'll find something to do.”

Reality Check Part 2

Sittin' across from him, was a thin blonde with legs that wouldn't quit and cheekbones Cindy Crawford herself would die for.

“What? Come on, it's this way. You can walk and breathe can't you? Jeaux? Jeaux what's the matter with you?”

“Rachel did you or did you not talk to him?” I asked her again not botherin' to look away.

“Oh,” she said. Oh. She saw full well what I was lookin' at and exactly what I was askin' her. Did she know he was goin' on a date? Did she know that he would be at that restaurant in particular?

“Come on, Jeaux, I don't think it's serious. You're not helping yourself staring.”

I knew it wouldn't matter how many different ways I asked the question, whether Rachel had intended on me seein' Kevin there or not, I would probably never know.

But that thing I had wanted to know – that question, of like or love...or monogamy...(or a comparable number of painful nights pinin' at the very least)...or a stream of girlfriends I never knew about – was just as I had originally figured it to be... too painful to bare. I didn't want to know!

Now I could not NOT know. He was on a date! With a gorgeous woman. One actually in his league- 'cause as I have it figured, I am probably not.

My mouth felt dry, but my hands were slick with sweat. And somehow I felt cold all over but still felt something burnin' a hole in my chest. Any other day and I doubt I would have taken it so poorly. We'll call it bad timin' at its finest.

“Look at her Rachel! She's gorgeous!”

“Eh,” she grunted, shruggin' her shoulders (as any good friend would do), “Come on, let's go,” she coaxed again, tuggin' on my arm. I'm not sure if I was tryin' my absolute best to will Kevin to turn his head and look at me, but it sure wasn't workin'.

Just then, a group of guys came stumblin' out of the bar. Two of whom had been kind enough to buy Rachel and I a round of drinks, and were currently hailin' down a cab.

“Headin' to The Hideout ladies, care to join us?” they called, wavin' us over to their cab.

“Now Jeaux. Let's go,” Rachel demanded, stompin' her foot.

Jumpin' into the cab with the guys we barely knew, (sure I'd managed to make-out with one of them already, but that was a given considerin' my blood-alcohol level and his please-kiss-me lips) and drove away from the reality I wished that wasn't. The reality I knew I didn't want to know. I could feel my instinctive reflex to find a diversion. Anything. Anybody. And, I just happened to be in luck. There was a pretty handsome diversion sittin' next to me.

Pullin' a joint from his jacket pocket, he didn't bother to ask the cabbie, or be concerned with the criminality of his actions, when he lit the fat end, puffed twice and passed it to me.

By the time we got to The Hideout, I was drunk, high, pissed, hurt, and irritated even further that I had not yet consumed enough drug-type substances to let me forget that I was pissed and hurt.

Inside the bar, I was on a mission, and Rachel saddled up right next to me. I let my new friend (who's name I kept forgettin') stick around, snugglin' my neck and wrappin' his arms around me from behind. His kisses were soft and sweet, which was nice. But he wasn't the one I wanted.

“Shot!” I called out again.

Like magic, there was suddenly another round bein' passed out, put back, and glasses slammed down.

Another.

Again.

Swoonin' back and forth, I tried my best to bury myself into his chest. But he didn't smell right. I nuzzled his neck, but his skin was prickly with whiskers, not smooth as it should be. I tried to dance with him, but his hips kept movin' in the opposite direction of my own. We couldn't find a rhythm.

And I was toasted. The drunker I got, the less impressed I was with my new friend, and I found myself brushin' him away and soon was avoidin' his kisses altogether.

I had barely even acknowledged Rachel's friend, and had to be reminded that her name was Aubree, 'cause apparently she doesn't like bein' called “hey.”

“I'm ready to go,” I abruptly announced prolly a bit louder than was required. Mr. Kiss-me-lips, had become Mr. Can't-take-a-hint and I was ready to be rid of my leech. I literally swatted his hand away like a fly only moments before, and still, he was there, creepin' his way in for a feelsky.

“Oh my God! Can you not take a hint?” I finally cried out, “Thanks but no thanks, okay, it's not gonna happen.”

“What's your problem?” he asked, lookin' wounded.

“It's not you,” Rachel said, tryin' to help, “she's just upset.”

“I got something that'll make you feel better,” he grinned, tryin' to rub against me again.

“Seriously?” I couldn't believe this guy. I grabbed his nuts in my fist, watched as his eyes bulged along with his Adam's-apple, (and I'm pretty sure he might've stopped breathin' for a minute) and spat, “You don't have half of what I need.”

“Definitely time to go!” Rachel squeeled jumpin' from her seat. Grabbin' my purse and Aubree's hand, she pulled me away from Mr. Not-so-much and shoved us all out the door.

Outside, Rachel nearly fell down she was laughin' so hard. Barely standin' upright, she hunched over, grabbin' her sides with her hands and with tears streamin' down her cheeks.

“Oh my God Jeaux! Did you see the look on that guy's face? We've got to get out of here! Oh my God!” she said still shakin' with laughter.

I couldn't help but feel kind of bad for Aubree. I think she might've found her a keeper, and she didn't look to be quite as understandin' of the treatment wrought upon my fella. Her deer-in-the-headlights gaze, combined with the fact that her jaw still hung half agape, made me wonder if my company might be a bit much for the poor girl.

And in perfect harmony with my “change” themed day, a bicycle cabbie pulled up in front of us.

“Need a ride?” he asked.

“Yes!” we all chimed together.

My mind was still awash with thoughts of Kevin, but given my hefty buzz, they were all of a more risqué nature than that of the torturous emotions of a mind more concerned with realisms.

“So you make pretty good money doin' this?” Rachel asked the cabbie. I only then noticed how slurred her speech was startin' to get. I hadn't been payin' attention to how soused our DD was.

The cabby's shirt was stained with sweat down the center of his back, and his hair was shiny along his brow. He had the best calves I had ever seen though. Gotta look for the positive in a job like that I'd assume.

“My God, how did we get so far away?” Rachel asked, lookin' around like she was lost. “Weren't we parked just around the corner?”

“We took a cab over there remember?” I reminded her.

“Umm, you can just drop me off here,” came a tiny voice. Oh, it was Aubree. Why was she so easy to forget about? Was I really so completely consumed by my own bullshit? Yes, I think I was.

Droppin' her off, and havin' to remind Rachel yet again, of our destination, because yes, we had taken a cab, and yes we were currently bein' towed by a guy on a bike, and no, he was not goin' to slaughter us an in alley...and man, this was gettin' out of hand fast.

After payin' the cabbie, and tippin' him handsomly for his chivalrous attempts at heavin' the now nearly unconscious Rachel from the carriage, we were loaded in the car.

There was just one problem.

I was in the driver's seat. And I don't drive for a reason.

Reality Check

You know that moment when you're dreamin' a good dream...and I mean a real real good dream...just gettin' to the best part...when you're awakened by some stupid tickin' or a persistent fly on a kamikazi mission to make sure if he's awake, by God, you will be too...and all you wanna do is go back to sleep? You lay there for a minute, squeezin' your eyes shut, tryin' your best to will yourself back into the depths of sleep, of the reprieve of the dream, the bliss of what could be...

But no. Stupid fuckin' fly.

I was havin' a magnificent dream, and Kevin was the starring actor. If I had to chase that fly with a bat only to succumb to burnin' down the house to be sure I singed its stupid buzzin' wings, that's exactly what I would do. Somebody was goin' to die.

It wasn't like I had never had these dreams before. But the fire between Kevin and I had been gettin' hotter for weeks. Ever since our afternoon together for Veteran's Day there had been a stronger-than-usual shock factor between us. It was like electricity every time we were together - the sexual tension practically settin' off sparks when we touched.

And it didn't matter.

I couldn't have him. I couldn't ever truly call him my own. It was something I wanted to ask him all the time. How did he feel about me? Really? Did he love me? Was he dating anybody else he wasn't tellin' me about? Did he love her?

But I didn't ask. I never did. We didn't broach the subject, as though all we needed to ever say was understood and therefore needn't be said...but it wasn't understood! But would understandin' make it any easier? Either way? If he loved me and couldn't have me, that would make it all the more painful, probably awkward, and could possibly prove to dismantle our friendship. If he didn't love me, and I really was left pinin' alone, that would surely be more painful than I could bare...and would again probably dismantle our friendship. So we bared the burdens of our functional and beloved yet undefinable relationship with an unspoken agreement not to speak of it (our true feelings) with me all the while workin' diligently to convince myself I didn't really want to know.

Completely sexually frustrated, and now irritated that my happy haze had been replaced by the swarmin' thoughts and girlie, irrational, ricochetin' emotions in my head, I again returned my attentions to the fly.

Stupid fucking fly.

Grabbin' the magazine from my bedside table, I rolled it up and flew out of my bed. I could see him sittin' on my dresser, all buzzy and cheerfully unaware that he was currently breathin' his last gulps of air.

After a few wild attempts, I managed to calm my thrashin' arms a bit and mercked the irritatin' little shit before I finally did have to ignite my own house in order to guarantee his demise.

I'll be honest, I was a little too gleeful in my trip to the toilet to flush his squished little body. I didn't even realize the devilish grin I had plastered on my face until I was watchin' him spin down into the pipes and a small chuckle escaped my throat.

Jesus Jeaux, you gotta relax. You need a change of scenery. A change of self maybe? Change is good.

I told myself all these things. Change.

What does a girl do when she awakes and impulsively seeks something she can immediately change in of herself?

She visits a beauty parlor.

“I need a haircut,” I told the woman at the front-desk at the salon.

“Was there a stylist you would prefer?” the woman asked.

“No,” I answered, barely payin' her any attention. My attention had focused on the pictures along the wall of the hair models. I was thinkin' something drastic. Drastic change would be the order of the day.

After my hair had been thoroughly washed (which is of course my favorite part of visitin' a salon) and I was cozied up in my chair with my stylist smilin' brightly behind me, she finally asked, “So what are you lookin' for today?”

“Short. Cut it all off.”

“How short? You have such beautiful hair,” she smiled again, runnin' her fingers through the long stretches of brown waves down my back.

“Here,” I gestured, drawin' a line with my finger from my ear to my chin. “Just chop it off.”

“Are you sure? It had to have taken you years to grow your hair this long.”

“Yes. I'm sure. Just do it okay. Donate it. Whatever. I don't care. Just cut it off. We're goin' for a change. Complete makeover okay?” I said startin' to feel a little exasperated with the woman.

“You can makeover yourself all you want and it won't makeover you life hunny,” she whispered, placin' her hand on my shoulder.

Words of wisdom from a girl lookin' much to young to be handin' them out...A life I knew I couldn't change...Feeling such a lack of control it felt like the roller coaster of my life went on unhinged from the tracks, my seat alone left forgotten and unattached...My hair, it seemed was the one thing I had total control of.

Grabbin' the scissors from her hands, I pulled my hair into a ponytail at the side of my head and in four easy snips, took complete control of that tiny sliver of my life.

“Okay, think you can clean that up for me?” I asked, handin' her the scissors.

Stunned – I'm quite sure that was a first for her – she barely nodded. “Straight across the back? Or, I think a slight bob would work well with your curls maybe?” she asked timidly.

“You're the expert, just do whatever you think would look best,” I replied tryin' to smile.

Luckily, my snarky behavior managed to keep the typical salon dribble to a low, minimizin' my chances of hurtin' the stylist's feelings any further.

So with my new haircut, waxed eye-brows, manicured fingers and still burnin' upper lip, I left to find Rachel to do my make-up and play dress-up. I wasn't worried that she'd have anything better to do...I figured she'd be so shell-shocked by my uncharacteristic requests, she'd know something was up and be ready to dish over the day's dramas.

Not to mention, all I'd have to do was give her one look at my new hair, and I was pretty sure my future would also include a large bottle of wine. She was handy that way.

A few hours later, I was workin' on my third glass of wine and my face had been colored with every kind of pen, brush, and powder Rachel had to offer. I had already poured my heart out about Kevin (even though I was always hesitant to discuss him with her) and sent her into a fit of laughter over the poor stylist I'd abused, and had leaned on her shoulder when I then burst into tears in the peak of my pity-party lamentin' my life, my disorder, and my secret but totally undeniable love for my best friend.

“Okay, finish that glass and we're going out! We're going to go drink and dance and flirt and scrounge up some fun. And you are going to stop thinking Kevin and you are going to start enjoying yourself. Do you have any idea how many people would love to be you? Come on now...drink up,” she encouraged, tiltin' my glass for me, so I had no choice but to gulp down the rest.

“That's a good girl,” she said grinnin'. “Come on now, lets get you dressed.”

“Alright alright,” I groaned, pullin' myself from her couch. “Have you talked to him today?”

“You seriously did not just ask me that did you?”

I only stared back. It was a stupid question. But apparently today was ask-and-say-stupid-unspoken-things-out-loud day.

“I'm not even going to dignify that with a response Jeaux. I'm not gonna do it!” she exclaimed, wavin' her hand in the air.

On the strip, the night went along like most any other. We drank, we danced, we turned a few heads. It was goin' along great. I had even managed to keep myself from thinkin' about him for more than five minutes at a time.

The combination of alcohol, loud music and smoke too thick to see through made me feel as though all of my senses were being clogged. Lights blinked, makin' the dancers appear to be movin' faster than they really were. It just made me feel like I couldn't find my next step quite right. Was the floor movin?

“We gotta go meet my friend Aubree at The Hideout. You ready?” Rachel asked.

Yes.

Outside, the crisp air made me feel a little more alert. I took two deep breaths, enjoyin' the fact that I could see again, and breath without coughin'. Maybe I wasn't as drunk as I thought I was.

But I soon wanted to be.

Across the street, through the window, I caught a glimpse of a very familiar profile.

It was Kevin. And he wasn't alone.

How to Get Banned from Macy's

I don't know how I always manage to let Rachel talk me into things. But somehow it never seems to take much convincin'. She has a way about her, I guess you could say that makes you just want to agree with just about everything she says.

So it's the weekend of Black Friday – I absolutely refused to come on the actual day of – and we are at the mall of all places in the entire world we could possibly be. The parkin' lot is so full we had to park in friggin' Bangladesh and hike up the Appalachian friggin' trail to get to our destination – the Macy's.

It wasn't long before Rachel was stuck to the counter of a shiny glass case, starin' down at the sparklin' diamonds and sapphires twinklin' back at her. You could practically hear them singin' her name. Or I'm sure she could anyhow.

“Miss!” she called, wavin' at a sales clerk. A slightly heavy set woman wearin' too much make-up and too much hairspray bustled over to assist her, but without the happy smile typical of a commission-earner about to make a big sale.

As though we were a complete waste of her time, she quickly sighed and spat, “Can I help you?”

I already didn't like her. She just rubbed me the wrong way. I didn't like her attitude. That “I work in a fancy store so I'm better than you,” attitude.

“I don't know, can you?” I asked.

“Not now,” Rachel said shushin' me. Normally she would have jumped all over the invitation to have the “can you, may you” debate, but the rush of the holiday shoppin' madness was beginnin' to infect her as well.

“I'd like to see that necklace, please,” she asked the lady ever-so-sweetly, pointin' at the necklace with her finger pressed upon the glass.

I saw the quick cut of her eye, heard the tiny sigh, before she reached for her keys to open the door. I leaned over on the glass, pressin' both my forearms along the top of the counter.

She sighed again.

As though I was suddenly overcome with curiosity at what I was sure was a completely over-priced set of earrings only my great-grandmother would wear, I went to lean in even further over the counter, rubbin' my arms along the surface as I reached.

A perfume bottle nearly fell over as I stretched my arm for the earrings from the twirlin' tower. I quickly set it right, nudgin' it over a hair, then grabbed the earrings. As soon as the necklace was laid down in front of Rachel, the woman reached over and nudged the perfume bottle back into “place," glarin' at the fresh smudge marks at the same time.

I don't know if it was a bad day or what, but she apparently didn't know how much Rachel liked to shop. If she were smart, she'd have been a little more invested in our needs. Well, Rachel's needs, but whatever.

So I nudged the bottle over again.

The woman gave me one of those looks that asks, “Really?” and moved it again to its proper location.

I, of course, reached over to move it again, the but she beat me to the bottle, placin' her hand over the lid, and huffin' “Would you please?”

“Please?” I queried back as though I didn't know what she were about to ask of me. Man I was feelin' catty! I must really, really not like this woman, I thought.

“Jeaux stop it,” Rachel jumped in, “I'm sorry. I'll take this by the way, thank you, and...”

“Okay, I'll get you at this register over here,” the sales clerk interjected. But, Rachel hadn't been finished. Now...there was my girl...she was gettin' irritated.

By the time Rachel was finished makin' her purchase, a solid sale for the woman she had to admit, I had been fulfillin' my time by swappin' the earrings and bracelets and pins in the little trays beside the register.

She'd just love that.

“If, you're done, thank you ladies and have a good day,” she said with a horrifically fake smile.

Hah. We'll just see about that, I thought. Jeez...what was wrong with me today? Was I experiencin' some kind of sick shoppin' rebellion or what?

Rachel was too jazzed about her new jewelry set to pay me much mind and had forgotten all about her irritation in her moment of shoppin' bliss. We turned to go and I nearly ran right into a set of those three-tiered towers holdin' folded sweaters and a new arrivals.

I stopped and grabbed one of the sweaters on the top of the tower, and glanced to see the woman watchin' me as she hurriedly tried to fix the mess I'd made of her trays.

I couldn't help myself. Without takin' so much as a three-second look at the sweater, I lifted it up just enough to completely undo the folds and tossed it back down in a heap.

As we turned the corner of the path circlin' the floor of the store, I saw her again rushin' over to fix what I'd done. And by the look of her flushed cheeks and squinty eyes, I'd say she was mad.

And then, as though I'd been suddenly thrown into a WWE wrestlin' ring, I was bein' basically attacked by the shoppers already so infected with the sickness their will to remember their humanity had vanished. Somewhere, I assumed right along with the money in their wallets.

So I decided to stop fightin' it and started grabbin' at shirts and jackets with a comparable frenzy...you know...like my life depended on their purchase, and that alone. I'm pretty sure this one lady would have been willin' to hit me in the face had I not let go of one suede coat when I did.

But this other lady! Oh my God she had it right! Screw tryin' to hold the clothes she wanted, she was wearin' them!

Rachel saw me lookin' at the beacon of shoppin' brillinace and commenced to followin' suit. Before long the three of us were dressed to the nines – or would you say tens? – in multiple layers of un-matchin' shirts and one particularly god-awful sweater for myself, that I had to wear for only one reason – it was too hilarious not to be worn; for I prayed it would be the only time it would see the light of day.

Even given the sensational mad-house that was wreakin' havoc on this side of the partition, the clerks were laughin' and helpin' and doin' their best to keep their peace between the lunatics, as they dodged from left to right like running-backs in haste to their posts.


Maybe that other lady was just a scrooge.

Rachel was tuggin' me on my sleeve around another row of racks when I saw her again. This time, the scrooge was helpin' another customer, the Luis Vitton bag on this woman's arm so shiny I wondered if it still had the brown paper paddin' inside.

And whaddya know? Scrooge was all smiles. From ear to ear, and lookin' genuine as hell too. Well that really rubbed me the wrong way.

Slinkin' over like a cat-burglar duckin' behind one tower and jumpin' to hide behind the next, I made my way back to her counter. Rachel was lost to me by now. I was on my own.

“Oh yes ma'am,” I heard her coo, “that would look absolutely divine on you! You know, I think we have a whole matching set to go along with it, if you have the time let's get you all dolled up and see what it looks like hmm?”

Well, wasn't she just the perfect little helper?

As she was too focused on her upcomin' sale to notice me behind her, I took immediate advantage of my window of opportunity.

Wrappin' my arms around one of the earring towers from the counter, I lifted it and put it on the other end. A few earrings fell off the hooks, sure. Then, I transferred the watch rack and placed its velvet case where the earring tower had been. No harm done there. Then, I tip-toed back behind another rack of panty-hose and waited for her to walk around to my side of the counter.

Finally, she came around. And luckily, nobody noticed me skulkin' around behind the panty-hose like I were tryin' (poorly at that) to sneak a five-finger discount or something.

It took her a minute to notice, but seein' an earring out of place on the counter, she picked it up and went to hang it in it's place, only to find, it's place was no longer in it's usual place. Ha ha!

Her face was priceless. She looked confused. Then, actually shook her head as though she were tryin' to remember if her memory were servin' her right or if somebody was messin' with her. She seemed to notice the swap, and I was pretty sure she was on to me, when I peeked my head over the partition just a little too high.

“I see you over there! You leave my counter alone before I call security! I mean it!”

The laughter finally sputtered forth (I'm pretty sure I actually spit on a few scarves, woops) then and I came tumblin' out of my hidin' place and ran back to find Rachel. I nearly passed her, as she had come to find me as well, but had stopped to smell some perfume selections.

I smiled, a little out of breath, and she did too. “Having fun?” she asked, knowin' me well enough to take a quick glance behind me in search of security guards or somethin'.

“Always,” I said.

She was smellin' a particularly dainty lookin' bottle of women's perfume, one that looked like a glass flower, the stem of the bottle the stem of the flower, and it's lid the petals. I was pretty sure if I held it I'd break it.

A line of women streamed into the store just then, and as we were very near the entrance, we were soon bein' pushed and brushed aside by their bouncin' shoppin' bags, purses, and big asses.

Rachel curled her nose at their inconsideration and turned to catch the last lady in the line-up with a hefty dose of the floral smellin' perfume in her hands.

“Hi! Welcome to Macy's!” she said in a high-pitched sing-song voice. If you didn't notice her own shoppin' bags in her arms, you'd have been sure she worked there.

“Hi! Welcome to Macy's!” she chimed again, squirtin' another surprised customer. I had to smile. The infection was startin' to subside (probably with the amount of money in her bank account). She had started a little game with herself.

I wanted to play.

So, dainty or not, I grabbed another bottle of the perfume and stood a few feet to the side of Rachel. She caught those comin' from one side, and I got the other. At first it was just a few ladies. Then a couple kids. Then even boys and men were fair game, as we knew our game would soon be cut short.

The whispers questionin' our authority as Macy's Perfume Spray Girls had been heard already.

“There! That's them! That's the girl!”

Dammit! Scrooge! I heard her shrill, I'm better than you-and-you-and-you voice, and knew it was time to go!

“Rachel! It's about that time,” I said puttin' the perfume bottle back on the table and gesturin' for the door. But the bottle fell to the floor - the fragile lid breakin' and sendin' shards of glass in all directions. Damn!

Lookin' towards the sound of the voices, I saw a tall, hefty security guard barrellin' towards us. Suddenly, I felt like a criminal. I was scared like a kid.

“Come on Rach, go time, now!” I said runnin' for the open doorway leadin' to the mall. But, as though in one final act of rebellion, (scared or not) I grabbed a purse and hat from one table, and ran to another, puttin' them down and pickin' up a pair of jeans and a shirt. Then I ran those to the next table and made another swap. I was apparently on a mission to mis-match Macy's right out the door, and I was laughin' like a crazed hyena the whole way.

“Jeaux, wait!” I heard Rachel shout, but I was too busy and quickly makin' my way out the door. In the open spaces of the mall's central court, I stopped to wait for her.

That's when I turned to see Rachel in the doorway, takin' off the shirts she had layered over herself, because...once you passed the store's doors, it was stealing.

The sales-clerk was now beside her with a crooked grin. But the security guard was still comin' toward me, pointin' at the ridiculous sweater I was still wearin'...had totally forgot about...and had never paid for.

Shit...