Shopping
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As I was reading a monotom and boring textbook about WW1, as usual striving - and failing - to do what they allways told me to do; find something amusing about what I had to do anyway, I suddenly realized I hadnt yet answered, or asked, one of lifes most intruiging questions: who are they? And do they all really share the same opinion? If so, how come? Are they right?
I was also thinking about whether this was an unusualy bright thought for an 8 year old, or if I should feel ashamed for the fact that the erlier 6 year old me never really checked his sources. What if the opinions of they was in the eye of the beholder, rather than straight forward facts? And even if it wasnt, shoudnt atleast some of it have gotten lost in the translation?
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'Stop beeing silly', I said, and tried to hide my smile. Mom kept screaming from the kitchen that she had found a Troll in the frying pan. I figured it was another excuse for her to get an end to my current video-game session. As usuall, it worked.
I liked it when she was beeing a silly mom, even though I didnt want to admit it.
'No really, it does look like a Troll. Look!", she said.
I looked at the pancake and with joy in my eyes I could see that it infact did look like a Troll!
(When I say Troll, I mean Troll from the scandinavian folklore, with big ugly noses. Except this troll didnt have a nose, as I´ve noticed flat pancakes seldom do. It still was a troll; I saw it very clearly, and hoped no one would argue about the nose thing).
It didnt take long before I decided that it didnt only look like a troll; it was indeed a troll.
'But thinking about it, doesnt trolls have these giant noses?', mom asked to my big frustration.
'Well..' I thought for a while.
'You did whipp him all fluffy and then you fried him in the pan. He is bound to lose something.'
'True'. And that was that.
She did however continue to point out that trolls arent all that nice, and I´d better watch out if this was the real deal. And as I didnt like the prospekt of my new found friend beeing evil, I decided this must be a nice troll. After some discussion we agreed that the evil part of a troll was all tucked upp in the nose wich in this case, as pointed out, was lost at birth.
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Later that day we went to the mall, shopping for clothes. We had talked about it for weeks, but it turnes out shopping was probably the first thing that made me realize I have a desciese. I procrastinate. I procrastinate more than anyone have ever procrastinaed before me. If I ever grow up to be a huge star, eventually they will all be on to me. Sniff it out. I´ve come to realize I wont have have a cool nickname at all. I wont be Wolverine, I wont be Superman; I´ll be "The Procrastinator". Because if you´re going to pin point my number one quality - without really going in to the 'why's and 'where's and 'how's - a quick objective look would scream "The Procrastinator". So I figured I will be one of those undergound icons instead. Those who are just too proud to be self-righteous in interviews, trying to get everyone to love them. But then what do I say when the mediastorm comes knocking? "No sorry, I can´t talk today, come back later!". Snap. There´s just no way to hide from yourself is there?
To this day, I still have a striking love-hate relationship to the whole shopping thing. On the one hand, I like to look good. New clothes helpes me accomplish that. On the other hand, its just plain boring. I dont know why. I really dont get it. Here I am, looking for new clothes that I dont even have to pay for myself, and I am hating every minute of it. I cant remember having a bad night, yet im so incredible tired. I had a huge breakfast, yet im so hungry that I fear I might not last another 10 minutes without getting something to eat. We actually talked about it this morning; turnes out she is not really a fan of this either. I knew it! I obviously blamed her as it must be inherited behaviour. I think it started out as a joke, but as usuall we ended upp in a quite and cold breakfast war
(you know when you try to put so much emphasis and anger in the words "pass the butter, please" that it comes out really pretentious and wierd - so wierd that the reciever of the words just wants to come back with: "Hah! That was a silly try for an insult boy! You loose!", but they cant can they? I mean, in this context, how silly woudnt that be? And they´d definatly leave themselves open for various comebacks, so instead they counter with a quite "hrm" as they slowly reach for the butter and place it so you can just reach it, but have to make an effort yourself). Anyway, we did decide to make the best of it. Have a good time. Go shopping, enjoy the moment. How hard can it be?
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So, I find a nice shirt, some decent jeans and a pair of socks. I also pick upp a pair of helishly cool sunglasses. Im happy. Moms happy. But as we get going to the car, she makes the same misstake she allways does.
-"Oh no, wait! You need a new pair of shoes as well!".
Frigging god. No, just.. Dont. I mean, why? Here we where, all happy with our accomplishment, ready to get home to try out my new fashoinable look, and she goes on totaly destroying the moment. Damnit. We had it. We where there. And shoes is the most boring part of the whole thing!
