You could have been a car salesman

I was putting the dishes away the other day and stumbled across that nacho cheese maker you made me buy. I looked at it, laughed, and thought to myself that you would have made an amazing car salesman because of your uncanny ability to talk anyone into anything. You somehow made everything seem like a good idea, which is strange because most of your ideas, without the hypnosis of your voice pressing them, were terrible ideas.

It was Veteran's Day last year and I had the day off (Federal Employee ;) You had called the night before and asked if we were going to take our grandmother out to eat for her birthday (also Veteran's Day), which in your language meant: where was I taking you to lunch the next day? I agreed that it would be a nice thing to do for our grandmother but let on that I knew about your scheme. I told you to be at my house at 9:00 am.

The next morning you showed up at 10:30, after I had to call you and wake you up. We stopped at the outlet mall on the way down to Atlanta to buy some Christmas presents for Jared. Somehow in the midst of jumping between clothing stores we ended up in the Kitchen Collection store. For those of you who have never been in one, it is basically a store filled full of everything 'Made for TV', really neat gadgets that no one actually NEEDS but, that if working properly, had the potential to make you the laziest person in the world. We spent about an hour glancing and fingering all of the junk, amazed at the terrible things that people invented, feeling a little jealous that we hadn't come up with such things as the Perfect Meatloaf Roasting pan or the Progressive Curly Fry Cutter. You can imagine the comments and fun that we had in there. That place was saturated with sarcasm by the time we left. We were just about to leave when you begged me to buy this Nacho Cheese maker, which is essentially a very small, festively decorated crock pot, and nothing more. I looked at you like you were nuts. You proceeded to explain to me how great this product would be and how it would make my life easier. When that didn't quite have me persuaded you started using my hunger against me and talking about the delicious salsa cheese dip I could make with it. Now that I am thinking about it, I wonder why you wanted me to have it so badly. I eventually caved, cheese dip did sound really good at the time. While I was paying for this ridiculous crock pot you brought over the Eggies Hard Boiled Egg System and tried talking me into that! I told you that if you wanted to boil an egg you could do it the old fashion way with a pan and some water, that you didn't need a "system" to do it. Before I had finished paying you had also tried your hand at pushing the Bacon Genie and the Yonanas Frozen Desert maker, which I am pretty sure you liked just for the name. Before we left the lady that was working there, who seemed WAY too into her job, offered you a position there! Ha ha ha!

On our way back from Atlanta we just had to stop at the grocery store to get some stuff to mix in our new piece of junk crock pot. At this point I was experiencing a wave of buyers remorse that you quickly passed off as indigestion. Really? So I reluctantly stopped at the store but made it very clear that I just needed to get a few things for dinner and that we could get some stuff to make cheese dip. You asked me if you looked like you were five and said "okay, mom" in your ever sarcastic tone and then promptly asked for a quarter to get a crappy toy out of the bubble gum machine at the entrance! We grabbed the few items I needed and the most disgustingly large hunk of Velveeta cheese and were about to head for check out when you said that you needed to get some stuff for yourself but you reassured me that you had money. You got 12 packets of Pasta Sides and some makeup. Really, again? We get up to the front and just as I finish unloading my items onto the belt you look up from your wallet, that you were pretending to look through for money, and say "Ooops, I must have spent it already". Geez. So somehow, in one day you had talked me into a Nacho Cheese Maker, buying your lunch, a drink and some candy at a gas station, 12 packets of Pasta Sides, a hunk of Velveeta cheese, and some make up (that wasn't the cheap kind, either). I got taken that day.

I swore to you, after we had gotten home and were happily enjoying or disgusting melted cheese, that I would never again take you out for the day, that it was too expensive. You turned and smiled and said, "But, Holly, this is our yearly tradition. And besides next year I will have a job, but I will probably still make you pay for everything." At least you were honest.

Unfortunately, we will not get a chance to carry through on that tradition together, or any others for that matter, but I will do my very best to carry it out on my own. And when I stop at the outlet mall on Hwy. 400 on my way to Atlanta, I will be sure to go into the Kitchen Collection store, where I am sure that the same friendly lady will be working, not remembering the girl that she had tried to hire the year before, and I will buy an Eggies System. When I get home and Jared asks me why I bought it I will just laugh and tell him that "Chelsea willed me to do it".

You could have been an amazing car salesman.