Meijer, Mimosas, and Men’s Vests

Ask anyone, I love Meijer. The aisles are wide, the lights are bright, and now this:

That’s Prosecco, next to orange juice. Not that I think you’re blind, I just have to keep saying it. This quickly prompted a conversation that began with only a picture:

Four things about this:

  1. Operation Find Mimosa Bitch is on. I don’t care if it’s a he or a she, they deserve the title of Mimosa Bitch. I appreciate Lizzy giving me he/she aspect, automatically I assumed it was a female – if it’s a male, I will still call the individual Mimosa Bitch.
  2. It was at the Meijer in Appleton, Wisconsin, and I am more than serious to know who was responsible for this act of brilliance. If you know this person – please get them in contact with me. (JenWritesStuff@outlook.com)
  3. Why is this the first time I’m seeing this sort of marketing prowess? I feel like if Lizzy or I were in charge of product placement in a grocery store, we’d have been on top of it, and I’d be writing about our acceptance into Mensa.
  4. I corrected my type-o as if I thought Lizzy actually might have thought I meant what I typed … we need to stop doing that.

Another thing that happened at Meijer that day? I noticed that every man over 30 was in a vest. Missed the memo that this is now the dress code for the cool dudes. There was the man with the flannel under the vest, the guy whose hat matched the vest, the gut whose hat matched the flannel under the vest. My man asked me why I didn’t get him one for Christmas. He noticed too. 

It would take quite a lot for me to stop shopping at Meijer. I can’t count to the number of vests that would keep me away from making my toilet paper, makeup, and everything else purchases from the place with such perfect marketing of mimosas.

Before leaving I went to the bathroom, and before entering saw this:

Why are there not changing stations for men to use everywhere? Men have babies, too. Why is this even exciting to me? Why does there need to be a sign for this? So many questions. This should be normal, which is just another reason Meijer is the best (with lots of vests).

For real though, someone find me that mimosa bitch.

I’m not going to let that bother me.

There we were, my husband and I, both trying to get that ever-so-important final word in. I can’t even tell you what we were bickering about, but I’m positive that it was something dumb – bickering is always for something dumb. If it was of any importance, it certainly would have escalated into an actual argument and I’d know exactly what it was pertaining to…and why I was right and my husband was wrong.

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Yeah, okay…whatever you say.

Good.

Fine.

Seriously! I just tried to end this.

Whatever.

After all that, an exceptional statement came out of my mouth:

I’m not going to let that bother me.

Brandin just looked back at me and I watched a smirk grow on his face, and that was that.

Okay, okay…I admit, I fully intended for that statement to be snide; one more little jab. I was legit surprised when I realized I actually felt better, and not a VICTORY-IS-MINE sorta better, it was as if I had literally just chucked that bicker-fest out the window.

 

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See ya later, bye.

 

What was supposed to be a disparaging remark, turned into quite the opposite. Give it a whirl, and not only when squabbling. For instance:

  • Oh, the jerk in the fancy car just cut me off? I’m not going to let that bother me.
  • Interesting… You canceled plans with me because you have a headache – and you were just tagged on Facebook at Applebee’s? I’m not going to let that bother me.
  • My dog that was just outside for 20 minutes but still crapped on the floor. I’m not going to let that bother me.

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There is really something to this, I promise. I’m no head-doctor and I’m certainly not an expert in staying calm (ask my husband) but hearing those words, they’ve helped digest  situations and from there, there’s a choice. Is it worth the negative feelings? More often than not, I’d rather just stay in a good mood.

 

Thanks, Walgreens Lady

Got off from work the other night, latish, around 10pm and made a quick stop at the local Walgreens. The hubs was fiddling with our vehicle so he strolled in a minute or two after me.

As I was checking out, he lagged behind near the end-cap. I heard him mumble something and I gave a kinda-quiet, what? He was talking about the new Lay’s flavors but I was too focused on getting outta there and home that I didn’t try hard enough to listen or respond. I know, wife of the year.

A woman who might have been training the young man helping me said something to him softly, something like, I didn’t think there was anyone else in the store. I took a look around and noticed my husband had wandered off and I figured maybe he had startled her.

She was cautiously walking in his direction when I said, I think it might just be my husband. She breathed a sigh of relief, which baffled me, I took my change and she blurts out:

I thought that man was bothering you!

Here, all along she thought this creep had followed me into the store and was trying to pick me up by talking about the new Lay’s Flavors. Keeping in mind that one is, Crispy Taco, and if said-stranger bought a bag I’d probably hop into his white kidnapping van, super irresponsible like.

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But With Tacos…

All jokes aside, I was most impressed with this woman having my back. She did more than just observe, she went looking for him. So, thanks Walgreens lady.

Appreciate you watching out.

More Food Less Flowers

Most people females would be delighted at the sight of a huge bouquet of flowers awaiting their arrival.

Surprise!

They’d pick them up and proceed to bury their face into the overgrown blossoming buds, take an exaggerated whiff and end the transaction with a soft, pleasant smile. Me? I’d stand about 5 feet away, one eyebrow arched and wonder who they are supposed to be for; Brandin wouldn’t do that.

My husband enjoys the instant gratification of handing me flowers, besides… I’m not super keen on them. I’d rather have food; he knows snacks and treats are better than a bunch of flowers that are going to die (mostly because after the initial feeding of the white powder, I’ll never water them again). Worse yet, they’ll die and stay put in the vase longer than they should.

Food is just better.

These flowers, wildflowers, tulips, roses (which I dislike most of all)…however you’d like to picture them: go imagination crazy. There’s no card. No explanation of who they could be from or for?  I have to assume this hypothetical bouquet was left by mistake. If you’re leaving flowers with no correspondence attached, they are fair game…

…so, I’d take them and enjoy them.

The unfortunate thing is, every time I looked at them I’d wonder if some guy is bitter that his lady friend didn’t guess they were from him. He’s probably not wanting to mention it to the intended recipient in fear of coming across like a complete douchebag.

So, uh… you never said anything about the flowers.

Obviously it wasn’t done for the recognition – otherwise he would have left a card or hand delivered them! Who just leaves a bouquet of flowers sitting out with no direction? Seriously…what an idiot.

Later, in this hypothetical day I’m having, my husband would come home from work and I’d begin spouting off about what kind of a person leaves flowers with no card? I’d go on and on and on until he couldn’t take it anymore.

Then, I’d apologize because they were indeed from my husband and I ruined yet another surprise.

That is the story of our married life.


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Secret Admirers.”

[You return home to discover a huge flower bouquet waiting for you, no card attached. Who is it from — and why did they send it to you?]