Help! Hardware

I visited the place with the helpful hardware persons recently. They weren't, but that was OK, I was still wet with wonder. I avoid hardware stores because I tend to get cosmic and orgasmic about the possibilities of it all. I have a similar reaction to arts and crafts stores, but it's more controlled because I'm a bit more in my element there. Hardware? Eventhough I don't know what half that stuff is, what it does or what one can do with it, I am cross-eyed with want.

I needed to get some caulking materials. YL was with me, I needed the ride and ballast. While pretending concentrating on looking for the aisle with the caulk stuffs, my eyes began to glaze, my head loll to and fro; YL, flabbergasted by my reactions, shook me into the now. "What is wrong with you? These aren't even clothes!"

"I hate shopping!" had been my mantra for years. What I've come to discover is that it's a specific kind of shopping that I find extremely distasteful. I cannot, without serious and creative inducement, shop for clothes, which is the polar opposite of my daughter. I find the places that house items to cover out bodies are some of the most frustrating places on the planet. Besides, building the perfect outfit doesn't provide me with anywhere near the same spark as does getting the materials that will allow the assembly of furniture, repairs and various household makeovers. The eruption caused by the prospect of getting my hands dirty with this stuff is off the scales.

We were leaving the neighborhood hardware place with ideas swelling and visions of acres of wares at discounted prices dancing in my head. I asked YL if she would take me to Menards (a Home Depot type outlet) in the next week or so. She looked at me like I'd sprouted wings, "I don't think I'm we're ready for that yet!"

Hmph.