Back in the swing of things and the first week of school is packed away like a once worn, moth-ridden sweater. Otto was great, the teachers were tremendous but a weird, dark cloud was ever present over the playground at drop-off. This cloud had no rain droplets or precipitation but rather a muted burnt orange glow that had the faint look like an old bathroom rug rung out and left for dead under the stairs of the windowless basement apartment your weird Uncle Bruce used for canning and skinning.
Can anyone PLEASE tell me what caused the freak fest, retard riot for the Missoni for Target web crash of 2011? Why did thousands of loony birds line up outside of every Target from here to the Florida pan handle to karate kick each other in their special parts over dishrag-styled socks and zigzag, vomit-colored throws and duvet covers last seen on granny’s nursing home deathbed?
Why did every laptop potato go online at midnight Monday to snatch up the eyesores disguised as faux-designer luggage of the not rich and never famous and why did I secretly want to jump in my car Tuesday morning, drive 40 miles outside of L.A. to possibly find that last, lonely Missoni make-up bag that some Jell-O headed shopaholic tossed behind the Liz Lange maternity display and buy it with a smugness only an out-of-work, C-list pop singer could truly pull off?
The stampede is over. The stores are back to being the humble hub of diaper wipes and wife beater tank shopping and the once overwhelmed website now blinks OUT OF STOCK when you click on anything Missoni, including a wretched ribbon throw pillow that I swear I tried and failed to make in my 7th grade sewing class.
Now all the moms at school can go back to their regular scheduled programming and forget about buying up the middle-America quickie solution to deep-seeded depression and wine-in-the-box medicating. My only regret is that we all won’t look exactly the same at this month’s Back To School potluck.